,  .. 


THE  MASTER  CRIMINAL 


BY  THE  SAME   AUTHOR 


GUTTER  TRAGEDIES 

CHILDREN  OF  EARTH 

THE  FOLLY  OF  THE  WISE 

THE  MOTOR  PIRATE 

THI  CRUISE  OF  THE  CONQUISTADOR 

THE  LADY  OF  THE  BLUE  MOTOR 


Five  or  seven?     It  won't  matter  much,  will  it?  "—Page  9 


THE 
MASTER  CRIMINAL 

BY 

G.  SIDNEY  PATERNOSTER 

Author  of  "The  Cruise  of  the  Conquistador," 

"  The  Lady  of  the  Blue  Motor," 

"  The  Motor  Pirate,"  etc. 


ILLUSTRATED  BY  CHARLES  JOHNSON  POST 


NEW  YORK 

THE  CUPPIvES  &  LEON  CO. 
PUBLISHERS 


COPTBIGHT,    1907,    BT 

G.  SIDNEY  PATERNOSTER 


All  Rights  Reserved 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER.  PAGE 

I.  "LET    THEM    GET    WHO    HAVE    THE 
POWER,  AND  LET  THEM   KEEP  WHO 

CAN"        7 

II.  CONCERNING  THE  GREUZE,  SOME  GEN- 
TILES AND  A  JEW 22 

III.  THE  MAKING  OF  A  CRIMINAL     ...       33 

IV.  THE  REFLECTIONS  OF  LYNTON  HORA     .       42 

V.    THE    COMMANDATORE    MAKES    A    DEDUC- 
TION       52 

VI.  WHEREIN  A  KING'S  MESSENGER  is  DE- 
SPOILED OF  His  DESPATCHES  ...  62 
VII.  MERIEL  MAKES  AN  IMPRESSION  ...  76 
VIII.  A    SUCCESSFUL    SPECULATION    AND   ITS 

RESULTS 87 

IX.  CONCERNING  A  GREAT  MAN'S  VEXATION  97 
X.  A  NEW  VIEW  OF  THE  FLURSCHEIM  ROB- 
BERY       105 

XL  GUY  FINDS  A  NEW  HOME     .     .     .     .  116 

XII.  INSPECTOR  KENLY'S  LODGER  .                .  128 


8137670 


CONTENTS  6 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XIII.  POISONED  WORDS    .....    ,.,    .     ...  137 

XIV.  THE  SHADOW-MAN 146 

XV.  INSPECTOR  KENLY  FINDS  A  CLUE     .     .  157 

XVI.  GUY  MAKES  A  RESOLUTION  .     .     .     .  168 

XVII.  STAR-DUST 177 

XVIII.  CORNELIUS  JESSEL  DREAMS  OF  A  FOR- 
TUNE   190 

XIX.  INSPECTOR  KENLY  REPORTS    ....  201 

XX.  GUY'S  LAST  THEFT 213 

XXI.  EXPECTATION 224 

XXII.  TEMPTATION 235 

XXIII.  A  FRIEND  IN  ADVERSITY 248 

XXIV.  INSPECTOR   KENLY   CONTEMPLATES  AC- 

TION          ....  258 

XXV.  THE  PARTING  OF  THE  WAYS     .     .     .  269 

XXVI.  CAPTAIN  MARVEN'S  SURPRISE  PACKET  .  280 

XXVII.  DUTY  CALLS 289 

XXVIII.  THE  FRUITS  OF  A  CRIMINAL  PHILOSOPHY  300 

L'ENVOi       ,.     .........  312 


THE  MASTER  CRIMINAL 


CHAPTER   I 

"  LET  THEM   GET   WHO   HAVE  THE  POWER,  AND  LET  THEM 
KEEP  WHO   CAN  " 

THE  night  was  cf  velvety  blackness — one  of  those  soft, 
warm,  dark  nights  of  June  when  the  southwest  wind 
rolls  a  cloud-curtain  over  the  stars,  when  the  air  is  heavy 
with  unshed  rain,  when  lamps  burn  dully,  and  when  a 
nameless  oppression  broods  over  the  face  of  the  land. 

Seated  at  an  open  casement  looking  out  into  the  Lon- 
don night  was  a  woman.  Her  hands  grasped  each  other 
over  her  knee  with  a  tense  grip  which  gave  the  lie  to 
the  calm  of  her  face.  Hers  was  a  face  to  which  in  repose 
Rossetti  would  have  woven  an  adoring  sonnet,  though 
not  as  to  another  "  lazy,  laughing,  languid  Jenny,  fond 
of  a  kiss,  and  fond  of  a  guinea,"  but  a  sonnet  of  purity 
and  peace.  Yet  if  the  sonnet  had  been  written,  and  the 
woman  had  read,  the  full  scarlet  lips  which  seemed  to 
have  gathered  into  them  all  the  colour  from  her  face, 
would  have  parted  in  scornful  laughter. 

Her  eyes,  a  part  of  the  night  into  which  they  gazed, 
had  dull  shadows  beneath  them,  painted  there  by  weari- 
ness, yet  she  still  sat  motionless  in  a  strained  attitude  of 
expectation. 

Her  sole  companion,  seated  a  few  yards  away  in  an 
easy  chair,  looked  up  at  her  occasionally  from  a  book 
which  he  held  in  his  hand  and  smiled. 


8 

Lynton  Hora,  the  Commandatore,  as  he  chose  to  be 
called  by  the  members  of  his  household,  was  in  quite 
another  way  an  equally  interesting  type  of  humanity. 
He  was  a  man  of  seventy  inches,  broad  shouldered  and 
lean  flanked,  with  well-poised  head.  His  hair  was  grey 
at  the  sides,  his  face  was  clean-shaven.  Seen  lounging 
in  the  easy  chair,  with  his  face  in  the  shadow,  he  ap- 
peared to  be  a  man  of  not  more  than  forty — an  old- 
young  student,  perhaps,  for  there  were  thought  lines  on 
his  brow  and  his  cheeks  were  almost  as  pallid  as  those  of 
the  woman  at  the  window.  Such  an  impression  would, 
however,  have  been  speedily  put  to  flight,  immediately 
he  looked  up.  Then  there  could  be  no  mistaking  the  man 
of  action.  The  keen,  hard,  grey  eyes,  the  domineering 
nose,  the  firmly  cut  lips,  labelled  him  definitely — con- 
clusively. 

Presently  the  woman  altered  her  position.  The  in- 
drawing  of  her  breath,  as  she  turned  from  the  window, 
might  have  been  a  sigh.  She  looked  around  at  her  com- 
panion. 

He  seemed  conscious  of  the  movement,  as,  without 
lifting  his  eyes,  he  asked  lazily:  "Tired,  Myra?" 

She  strove  to  reproduce  the  quietude  of  his  tone  as 
she  replied :  "  A  little.  What's  the  time  now,  Commanda- 
tore ? "  but  there  was  a  tremor  in  her  voice,  which 
showed  clearly  that  she  was  not  so  indifferent  as  she 
wished  to  appear. 

The  man  tossed  down  his  book. 

"  Listen,"  he  said. 

Almost  as  if  in  answer  to  his  summons  the  voice  of 
Big  Ben  floated  softly  in  through  the  window — one — 
two. 


"  He  ought  to  be  back  by  now,"  she  said,  and  rising, 
she  began  to  rearrange  the  roses  in  a  bowl  on  a  table 
near. 

"  I  don't  expect  Guy  for  another  hour  at  least,"  said 
the  man  carelessly,  though  he  watched  the  woman  keenly 
as  he  spoke.  "  After  that — well,  if  we  don't  see  him  in 
an  hour,  we  shall  probably  not  see  him  for  five  years,  at 
least." 

The  woman  winced  as  from  a  blow. 

"  Five,  or  seven  ?  It  won't  matter  much,  will  it  ?  " 
she  replied  quietly.  Then  in  a  moment  her  self-control 
dropped  from  her.  Her  lethargy  vanished.  A  light  came 
into  her  eyes,  her  nostrils  became  vibrant.  Without  al- 
teration of  pitch  her  voice  became  passionate.  "  It  is 
horrible — brutal  of  you — to  send  him  on  such  a  business. 
What  can  possess  you  to  do  such  a  thing — can  you  not 
spare  even " 

"  Hush ! "  The  man's  voice  interrupted  her.  He 
spoke  with  silken  suavity.  "  How  often  have  I  told  you 
that  the  reiteration  of  facts  known  to  both  parties  to  a 
conversation  is  the  hall-mark  of  the  unintelligent ! " 
"  By  Jove,  Myra,"  he  continued,  changing  the  subject, 
"  how  really  beautiful  you  are !  What  a  lucky  dog  Guy 
is  to  rouse  such  an  interest !  " 

The  woman  dropped  her  eyes  and  the  man  continued 
meditatively,  "  What  a  vast  alteration  has  taken  place  in 
the  ideal  of  feminine  beauty  since  the  fifteenth  century ! 
Do  you  know,  Myra,  while  you  have  been  sitting  so 
patiently  at  the  window  I  have  been  measuring  you  by 
the  canons  of  beauty  laid  down  by  that  sleek  old  church- 
man, Master  Agnolo  Firenzuola  " — he  tapped  the  black 
letter  volume  which  lay  beside  him — "  and  though  he, 


io  THE   MASTER   CRIMINAL 

I'm  afraid,  would  have  many  faults  to  find  with  your 
features " 

The  levity  of  his  tone  roused  her  again  to  passionate 
utterance. 

"  No  more,"  she  cried.  "  Have  you  no  heart  left  in 
you,  Commandatore,  that  you  can  send  your  own  son  to 

such   danger  and  sit  there   calmly  reading  while ' 

She  broke  off  abruptly,  her  voice  choked  with  a  sob. 

Lynton  Hora  rose  from  his  seat  and  viewed  the 
woman,  who  shrank  from  his  steady  gaze. 

"  Have  matters  gone  so  far  as  that  ? "  he  asked,  and 
his  lips  smiled  cynically. 

She  made   no   reply. 

"  You  never  asked  my  permission,"  he  continued  dis- 
passionately. "  Guy  has  said  nothing.  I  am  afraid, 
Myra,  I  shall  have  to  see  that  he  is  protected  from  your 
influence." 

She  looked  at  him  appealingly,  and  her  eyes  were  as 
the  night,  heavy  with  unshed  rain. 

"  He — is — your — son,"  she  said  slowly.  "  I — I  can- 
not do  him  the  harm  that  you  can  do  him,  and  yet — I  am 
afraid  for  him.  Perhaps  you  had  better  send  me  away, 
Commandatore.  My  fears  may  make  a  coward  of  him." 

The  man  spoke  as  if  musing  aloud.  "  Where  shall  I 
send  you  ?  Back  to  the  gutter  from  whence  I  picked  you  ? 
Do  you  remember  anything  of  your  home,  Myra?" 

"  I  know.  I  know,"  she  protested.  "  You  have  re- 
minded me  often  enough." 

He  paid  no  heed  to  her  appeal. 

"  Yesterday,"  he  said,  "  I  visited  the  place.  No,  it  has 
not  tumbled  down  yet,  my  dear — the  very  house  where 
your  mother  sold  you  to  me  for  half-a-crown  and  a  bottle 


LET  THEM  GET  WHO  HAVE  THE  POWER    n 

of  gin,  a  dirty  child  of  five.  That  was  fifteen  years  ago 
— fifteen  years  ago  to-day.  You  were  unwanted,  un- 
cared  for — I  wanted  you,  I  cared  for  you.  Let  me  tell 
you  how  I  found  your  mother,  Myra  ?  " 

She  lifted  her  hands  with  a  gesture  of  appeal,  but  he 
disregarded  the  action. 

"  She  occupies  the  same  old  room.  There's  but  little 
light  finds  its  way  through  the  dirty  window,  though 
enough  to  show  that  your  mother  has  not  changed  her 
habits — nor  her  rags.  She  sat  there  alone,  like  a  drop- 
sical spider  and  cried  aloud  for  gin.  Would  you  like  to 
change  this  " — his  hand  directed  attention  to  the  apart- 
ment— "  for  a  share  of  your  mother's  abode,  Myra 
Norton?" 

Myra  had  seated  herself.  She  made  no  answer  for 
a  while.  Her  eyes  wandered  about  the  long  apartment, 
with  its  shaded  lights  and  its  flowers  and  its  luxurious 
furniture.  Her  hand  dropped  on  the  silken  gauze  of  her 
dress.  The  man  watching  smiled  as  he  saw  the  flash 
of  the  diamonds  on  her  fingers  and  noted  the  caressing 
motion  of  her  fingers  upon  the  shimmering  fabric.  At 
last  she  raised  her  eyes  to  her  questioner. 

"  You  could  not  send  me  back,"  she  said. 

"  I  could  send  you  to  a  worse  place,"  he  replied  coldly. 
"  You  know  my  power." 

She  shuddered. 

His  tone  changed  completely. 

"  You  little  fool,"  he  said  roughly,  but  with  a  kindli- 
ness his  speech  had  lacked  hitherto.  "  You  know  very 
well  that  I  could  never  let  you  go  back  to  the  stews  from 
which  I  rescued  you.  But  I  wanted  to  remind  you, 
Myra,  that  you  belong  to  me — that,  like  myself,  you  are 


12  THE   MASTER   CRIMINAL 

pledged  to  war — a  merciless,  devouring,  devastating  war 
with  Society;  that  you,  even  as  I  myself,  are  outcast — 
one  from  whom  the  world  would  shrink — you  have  been 
in  danger  of  forgetting  lately,  Myra." 

"  I  have  not  forgotten,"  she  answered  with  comparative 
quietness,  "  but  I  have  been  thinking  of  what  is  the  use 
of  it  all,  this  eternal  warfare  against  the  world.  You 
have  won  again  and  again.  You  have  told  me  that  you 
are  the  richer  by  what  the  world  has  lost.  You  lack 
nothing  that  money  may  buy.  There  must  come  a  time 
when  the  warrior  must  rest." 

"  Not  while  his  arm  retains  its  strength  to  lift  his 
sword,"  replied  Hora,  "  and  by  that  time  he  should  have 
provided  someone  to  take  his  place." 

"But  if  that  person  is  unequal  to  the  task?"  Myra 
queried  timidly. 

"  He  pays  the  penalty,"  answered  Hora. 

"-Even  if  it  is  your  own  son  ?  "  she  persisted. 

"  Or  your  lover,"  he  added  coldly. 

"  Your  heart  is  iron,"  she  murmured  despairingly. 

He  laughed  aloud.  "  Or  non-existent,"  he  said.  "  It 
was  stolen  from  me  years  ago,  and  I  have  forgotten  what 
it  was  like  to  be  possessed  of  one.  Now  I  have  only 
my  profession — and  in  that  I  am  first.  You  admit  that, 
Myra?" 

"  I  admit  that,"  she  replied  sullenly. 

"  Why  should  I  not  train  my  successor  to  take  my  place 
when  my  day  comes  ?  " 

The  woman  in  the  listener  cried  out  instinctively  "  Be- 
cause he  has  what  you  lack — a  heart." 

He  smiled  grimly.  "  It  is  easily  lost,  Myra.  What 
•if  I  should  say  to  you  some  day:  Take  it  from  him, 


LET  THEM  GET  WHO  HAVE  THE  POWER     13 

toss  it  away,  trample  on  it,  break  it,  or  store  it  away  and 
treasure  it  with  your  trinkets — do  as  you  like  with  it?" 

"  You  would "  She  rose  from  her  seat  and  faced 

him  with  extended  arms.  Her  lips  were  slightly  parted. 
The  shadows  had  flitted  away  from  her  eyes.  Her  bosom 
rose  stormily  from  its  gauze  veilings.  Her  lithe  form 
was  poised  expectantly. 

"  By  Jove,  you  are  beautiful,  Myra,"  he  answered. 

"  I  am  glad  of  it — glad,"  she  cried  exultantly. 

Hora  stood  in  a  thoughtful  attitude. 

"  Myra — Myrrha,"  he  half-mused,  turning  the  name 
about,  "  a  good  name  for  a  love-potion,  there's  a  fore- 
shadowing of  the  bitterness  of  love  in  it." 

Her  brow  clouded  and  she  turned  away.  "  You  are 
always  mocking  me/'  she  muttered. 

"  No,"  he  said,  and  he  stepped  across  the  room  to  her 
side.  There  was  something  strange  about  his  walk.  He 
passed  across  the  room  with  the  swift,  stealthy  swing  of 
a  panther — a  wounded  panther,  for  one  foot  dragged  after 
the  other  and  robbed  his  progress  of  complete  grace. 
He  came  to  her  side  and  laid  his  hand  on  her  arm. 

"  I  am  not  mocking,  Myra,"  he  said  seriously.  "  I 
have  long  wanted  to  know  exactly  where  Guy  was  placed 
in  your  thoughts.  You  have  never  revealed  yourself 
until  to-night.  Even  now  I  am  not  quite  sure " 

Myra's  countenance  cleared  and  a  happy  smile  shone 
on  her  face.  She  looked  up  at  him  expectantly. 

''  You  can  tell  me  how  much  you  care  for  him,"  he 
continued.  "  I  shall  not  reveal  your  confidence  to  Guy." 

She  dropped  her  eyes. 

"  I  cannot  tell  anyone,"  she  whispered  with  a  strange 
shyness. 


14  THE   MASTER   CRIMINAL 

Hora  smiled  whimsically.  "  What  liars  love  makes  of 
us  all,"  he  said.  "  Yet  perhaps  you  are  speaking  truth- 
fully. You  cannot  tell  me  what  you  do  not  know." 

"  I  could  die — die  happily — for  him,"  she  murmured 
softly. 

"  Fools  sometimes  die  for  utter  strangers,"  remarked 
Hora  sardonically.  "  That's  not  love.  Could  you  live 
for  him,  could  you  give  yourself  to  another  for  his  wel- 
fare, could  you " 

"  Not  that,  no,  not  that ! "  The  cry  was  wrung  from 
her  lips.  "  You  would  not  condemn  me  to  that,  Com- 
mandatore  ?  " 

"  Hush,  Myra,"  he  said.  "  I  was  merely  speaking  of 
possibilities  which  might  arise  in  the  future." 

"  I  thought,"  she  faltered,  "  that  some  scheme  had 
crossed  your  brain,  which  would  necessitate — I  could  not 
do  it  now." 

"  I  have  thought  of  no  scheme,"  he  replied  reassuringly, 
"  which  would  wither  this  new  flower  which  has  blos- 
somed in  your  heart." 

"  You  are  mocking  again,"  she  remarked. 

"  I  am  speaking  seriously,"  he  retorted,  "  of  possibili- 
ties which  might  occur.  Guy's  mate  must  be  prepared 
for  anything — for  everything.  You  must  remember  that 
I  am  not  to  be  turned  aside  from  the  object  I  have  in 
view.  Nor  is  Guy  to  be  turned  aside  either.  His  will 
is  as  inflexible  as  mine.  The  woman  who  mates  with 
him  must  be  at  one  with  him  in  his  purpose,  and,  if  need 
be,  must  be  ready  to  sacrifice  herself.  Tell  me  now,  Myra, 
if  you  can  do  that,  or  must  I  find  a  mate  for  him  who 
will?" 

She  did  not  hesitate  a  moment.    The  blood  rushed  to 


15 

her  face.  "  For  Guy  I  would  do  anything,"  she  cried. 
"  All  that  I  ask  is  to  be  near  him  to  help  him  to " 

"  To  weaken  him  with  your  woman  fears,"  Hora  in- 
terpolated. 

"  No,"  she  cried.  "  He  would  never  know  that  I 
feared  for  his  safety.  Let  me  try,  Commandatore.  Give 
a  fair  chance — only  that !  " 

He  meditated  a  while,  then  he  tapped  Myra's  arm  with 
his  finger. 

"  You  shall  have  your  chance,"  he  said.  "  But  remem- 
ber it  is  your  business  to  keep  him  to  his  profession.  He 
has  no  time  for  lovemaking.  You  shall  have  your  chance, 
but  be  sure  you  use  it  wisely.  If  you  do,  the  day  may 
come  when  I  shall  say  to  Guy,  there  is  your  wife — and  the 
wife  will  be  the  child  I  have  picked  from  the  gutter  and 
educated  and  treated  as  my  own." 

There  was  a  brooding  menace  in  the  tone  in  which  he 
finished,  and  the  woman  feared  to  waken  him  to  speech 
again.  At  last,  he  said  harshly: 

"Have  you  no  thanks,  Myra?" 

"  You  frighten  me  sometimes,  Commandatore,"  she 
answered  timidly.  "  I  cannot  understand  you." 

"  You  will  do  so  some  day,"  he  replied.  He  seemed 
amused  at  the  idea,  for  he  laughed  and  spoke  good- 
humouredly.  "  If  you  make  good  use  of  your  chances, 
my  girl,  everything  will  become  clear  to  you.  You  have 
wit  as  well  as  beauty,  Myra.  Make  use  of  them  both. 
He  is  of  an  age  to  be  caught." 

Through  the  open  window  the  voice  of  Big  Ben  sol- 
emnly tolled  three. 

The  light  died  out  of  the  woman's  face.  "  Cruel,"  she 
murmured  in  a  tense,  hoarse  whisper.  "  It  was  cruel  to 


16  THE    MASTER   CRIMINAL 

mock  me  so.  Something  has  happened  to  him.  The 
hour  has  passed.  Oh !  Guy,  Guy !  " 

Lynton  Hora  turned  upon  her  fiercely.  "  Is  this  a 
specimen  of  your  self-control  ?  "  he  said.  "  Haven't  you 
learned  that  in  the  profession  Guy  has  adopted  a  thousand 
trivial  events  may  supply  reason  for  delay?  Mind,  if  I 
have  any  snivelling  I  withdraw  my  promise." 

Myra  was  constrained  into  silence.  She  went  to  the 
window.  Already  the  black  night  had  given  place  to 
the  grey  mists  of  coming  dawn.  She  looked  out  over 
the  park.  Uprising  from  the  sea  of  shadows  objects 
began  to  emerge.  From  the  near  distance  the  music  of 
violins  and  harps  throbbed  to  a  waltz  measure.  She 
stood  there  unheeding  while  the  light  strengthened,  and 
the  dawn  came  up  from  the  east  in  a  glory  of  crimson  and 
gold.  She  stood  there  unseeing,  her  heart  throbbing 
with  agony,  yet  with  face  schooled  to  complete  apathy. 

The  rose  and  the  gold  faded  from  the  sky.  Another 
day  had  begun.  She  had  forgotten  Hora's  presence,  for- 
gotten everything.  She  closed  the  window  and  lifted 
her  hand  to  pull  down  the  blinds  and  shut  out  the  day. 
Hora's  voice  awakened  her. 

"  Listen,"  he  said,  and,  rising  swiftly  from  his  chair, 
he  pushed  Myra  aside  and  threw  open  the  casement  again. 
The  sharp  sound  of  the  bell  of  an  electric  brougham 
entered  that  window  on  the  eighth  storey  just  as  the 
voice  of  Big  Ben  proclaimed  four. 

"  Only  somebody's  brougham,"  said  Myra  listlessly. 

"  My  brougham,"  replied  Hora  curtly.  "  Bringing 
Guy  home." 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "  Coming  back  without 
him,  most  likely,"  she  said.  Still,  in  spite  of  the  remark, 


LET  THEM  GET  WHO  HAVE  THE  POWER     17 

hope  showed  itself  in  her  expression.  The  carriage 
stopped.  For  five  minutes  a  strained  silence  endured. 
It  was  broken  by  the  sound  of  an  outside  door  open- 
ing and  shutting.  Another  pause !  Both  were  looking 
towards  the  door  of  the  apartment  in  which  Myra  and 
Hora  stood  expectantly.  Hora  held  up  his  ringer  warn- 
ingly  to  his  companion. 

The  door  opened  and  there  entered  a  young  man  in 
evening  clothes,  his  coat  was  over  his  arm,  upon  which 
an  umbrella  was  hooked,  and  his  hat  was  in  his  hand. 

"  Hullo !  I  didn't  expect  anyone  to  be  waiting  up  for 
me,"  he  remarked  cheerfully.  "  I  thought  that  was  a 
privilege  reserved  for  the  reprobate  sons  of  evangelical 
households.  I  suppose  you  haven't  been  praying  for  the 
success  of  my  undertaking." 

He  laughed  joyously.  His  high  spirits  seemed  infec- 
tious. Hora  smiled  responsively.  Joy  illuminated 
Myra's  expressive  features  like  sunlight  on  the  wood- 
lands after  an  April  shower. 

"  You  surely  did  not  think  that  I  should  fail  ? "  he 
asked,  looking  from  one  to  another. 

"  I  did  not,"  replied  Hora  drily.  "  Myra  scarcely 
shared  my  confidence  though.  She  seemed  to  think  that 
it  was  brutal  of  me  to  give  you  a  chance  of  showing  what 
you  could  do,  when  working  on  your  own  account." 

The  young  man  laughed  again. 

"  These  women — these  women,"  he  said.  Then  he 
turned  to  Myra.  "  I  thought  that  you,  at  least,  would 
have  had  confidence  in  me."  He  tossed-  his  coat  on  to  a 
chair,  and  going  to  her,  encircled  her  waist  with  his  arm. 
"  Did  you  really  think  I  should  fail  in  my  first  coup?  "  he 
asked. 


18  THE   MASTER  CRIMINAL 

"  No — no — no,"  she  cried  vehemently.  "  But,  oh, 
Guy !  I  was  afraid.  If  I  could  only  have  come  with  you 
— to  have  shared  in  the  danger." 

"  Then  I  probably  should  have  failed,"  he  added.  "  As 
it  is " 

He  turned  to  Hora  and  there  was  a  proud  gleam  in  his 
eyes.  "  You  must  set  me  a  more  difficult  task  next  time, 
Commandatore,"  he  said. 

"  Then  you  have  secured  the  picture  ?  "  asked  the  elder 
man  eagerly. 

For  reply,  Guy  lifted  the  umbrella  from  the  table 
where  he  had  laid  it  down.  To  all  appearance  it  was 
merely  a  specimen  of  the  article  it  pretended  to  be,  but 
in  the  young  man's  hands  the  handle  unscrewed,  reveal- 
ing the  fact  that  it  was  a  sham.  Instead  of  an  umbrella, 
a  long  narrow  case  was  revealed,  and  from  within  it  Guy 
coaxed  with  infinite  care  a  roll  of  canvas. 

"  It  was  rather  a  tight  fit,"  he  remarked,  "  but  I  don't 
think  I  have  damaged  the  picture."  He  unrolled  the 
canvas  carefully  on  the  table. 

Hora's  eyes  sparkled  as  he  looked  down  upon  the 
painting. 

"  How  I  have  longed  for  a  genuine  Greuze  to  add  to 
my  collection,"  he  remarked,  "  and  this — this  is  the  most 
perfect  specimen  in  the  world.  My  dear  Guy,  how  can 
I  ever  be  grateful  enough  to  you?" 

Was  there  a  dash  of  sarcasm  in  his  voice?  If  so,  the 
young  man  did  not  notice  it.  He  was  moved  to  genuine 
emotion. 

"  It  is  a  little  thing  in  return  for  all  you  have  done  for 
me,"  he  replied  earnestly.  He  laid  his  hand  on  the  elder 
man's  arm  as  he  continued,  "  There's  nothing  I  would  not 


LET  THEM  GET  WHO  HAVE  THE  POWER     19 

do  which  would  add  to  your  happiness — you  have  given 
me  so  much." 

Hora  shook  off  the  grasp. 

"  The  air  is  overcharged  with  sentiment,"  he  said 
lightly.  "  Myra  here  might  have  been  trained  in  an  Eng- 
lish boarding  school  for  young  ladies,  she  is  so  full  of  it. 
And  now  you."  He  held  up  his  hands  in  derision. 

Guy  laughed  gaily.     He  was  used  to  Hora's  moods. 

"  Sentiment  does  sound  a  little  incongruous  from  the 
lips  of  a  successful  burglar,  doesn't  it?"  he  said,  and  he 
laughed  again  at  the  whimsicality  of  the  idea.  "  Yet  you 
know  that  at  heart,  Commandatore,  you  are  just  as  much 
of  a  sentimentalist  as  either  Myra  or  myself.  What  else 
can  be  the  motive  of  your  perpetual  enmity  with  the 
world  ?  " 

"  What  else ;  ay,  what  else,"  murmured  Hora  musingly, 
a  bitter  smile  about  his  lips.  "  But,  all  the  same,  there's 
no  need  to  debauch  our  minds  with  contemplation  of  sen- 
timent. It's  dangerous." 

He  returned  to  an  examination  of  the  picture. 

"  The  fool  who  owned  this,"  he  said,  "  would  have 
sold  it.  He's  no  poorer  for  the  loss.  It  is  not  the  loss 
of  the  work  of  art  that  he  will  regret,  but  the  loss  of  the 
ten  thousand  guineas  he  gave  for  it." 

"  It  is  in  really  appreciative  hands  now,"  remarked 
Guy  after  a  pause.  "  By  the  way,"  he  added,  picking 
up  his  overcoat  from  the  chair,  "  I  could  not  resist  the 
temptation  of  bringing  away  a  few  of  the  best  examples 
of  Flurscheim's  snuff-boxes.  I  know  you  have  a  vacant 
corner  or  two  in  the  cabinets  upstairs,  and  if  you  think 
they  are  not  worthy  of  being  placed  in  them,  well  the 
brilliants  in  the  settings  will  make  a  necklace  for  Myra." 


20  THE   MASTER   CRIMINAL 

He  thrust  his  hand  into  the  pockets  and  took  out 
a  number  of  superb  specimens  of  the  art  of  a  by-gone 
age. 

"  It  was  very  thoughtful  of  you,"  said  Hora,  as  he 
lifted  each  box  lovingly  as  Guy  laid  it  on  the  table.  There 
were  twelve  in  all,  and  eight  he  placed  on  one  side. 
"  These  are  really  artistic  productions,"  he  said,  "  and  I 
shall  keep  them.  The  others  are  worth  no  more  than  the 
intrinsic  value  of  the  stones  and  of  the  grold  of  which  they 
are  made." 

Guy  turned  to  Myra.  "  What  will  you  have  them 
made  into,  Myra,  a  necklet  or  a  bracelet? — I  must  give 
you  a  keepsake  to  wear  in  memory  of  my  first  big 
exploit." 

"  Anything  you  like,  Guy,"  she  answered  softly,  while 
her  face  flushed  with  delight. 

"  Then  we  will  think  of  something,"  he  observed  care- 
lessly. He  picked  up  one  of  the  boxes  which  Hora  had 
placed  aside.  "  I  think  I  should  like  to  keep  this  one 
myself,  Commandatore,"  he  remarked,  "  as  a  souvenir  of 
the  occasion." 

Hora  took  it  from  his  hand  and  looked  at  the  box 
curiously.  In  the  lid  was  set  an  exquisite  miniature  on 
ivory  of  a  young  girl,  with  regular,  delicate  features  and 
a  cloud  of  golden  hair. 

"  You  have  good  taste,  keep  it,  by  all  means,"  urged 
Hora  carelessly.  A  slight  hesitation  in  Guy's  tone  as  he 
proffered  the  request  was  evidence  to  his  swift  brain  that 
the  young  man  had  not  revealed  the  whole  of  his  reason 
for  the  desire  to  retain  that  particular  box.  He  knew  that 
he  could  when  he  liked  elicit  that  reason.  But  the  morn- 
ing was  advancing.  He  began  to  feel  wearied.  He 


LET  THEM  GET  WHO  HAVE  THE  POWER    21 

would  have  plenty  of  time  on  the  morrow  to  learn  all  that 
he  desired  to  know. 

"  Come,  my  children,"  he  said,  "  it  is  time  we  went  to 
bed.  Guy,  you  will  help  me  put  these  new  possessions 
of  ours  into  a  place  of  security.  Sleep  well,  Myra." 

The  woman  accepted  the  dismissal  submissively.  She 
re-echoed  the  wish,  and,  with  a  last  glance  over  her 
shoulder  at  Guy  as  she  swept  out  of  the  room,  she  left 
them. 

"  Myra's  getting  very  fond  of  you,  Guy,"  remarked 
Hora  when  the  door  had  closed  behind  her. 

"  Indeed,"  he  answered  carelessly,  for  his  mind  was 
running  on  other  matters. 

Hora  laughed  at  the  tone,  but  he  did  not  renew  the 
subject. 

"What  made  you  so  late?"  he  asked. 

"  Some  jolly  people  I  met  at  the  ball,"  he  answered 
absently.  "  I  stopped  an  hour  longer  than  I  intended." 

"  H — m,  business  before  pleasure  is  as  good  a  motto 
for  your  profession  as  for  any  other,"  said  Hora. 

"  I  know,"  answered  Guy,  "  but  still " 

"  You  are  young,"  commented  Hora,  "  I  hope  that  in 
your  haste  you  left  no  clue." 

The  young  man  laughed.  "  Plenty,"  he  said,  "  but  all 
false  ones." 

"  Well,  you  shall  tell  me  all  about  it  in  the  morning," 
said  Hora.  "  Bring  the  stuff  along." 

Guy  gathered  up  the  sham  umbrella  and  the  jewelled 
snuff-boxes,  slipping  the  one  he  had  decided  to  retain  for 
himself  into  his  pocket. 

Hora  raised  the  picture  reverently  and  led  the  way  out 
of  the  room,  Guy  following  him. 


CHAPTER  II 

CONCERNING  THE  GREUZE,  SOME  GENTILES,  AND  A  JEW 

LATER  on  that  same  morning  all  London  was  thrilled 
by  the  story  of  a  sensational  burglary  at  the  house  of 
Mr.  Hildebrand  Flursceim,  the  noted  connoisseur  and 
dealer  in  objects  of  art. 

Just  at  daybreak  Mr.  Flurscheim  had  been  aroused  by 
the  ringing  of  the  burglar  alarm,  and,  throwing  on  his 
dressing-gown,  he  had  rushed  downstairs.  There  he  had 
found  the  front  door  open,  and,  running  into  the  street, 
he  commenced  to  blow  frantically  the  police  whistle  which 
he  had  in  his  hand — he  always  slept  with  a  police  whistle 
attached  to  a  ribbon  round  his  neck  and  with  a  revolver 
under  his  pillow. 

He  had  not  been  compelled  to  waste  much  breath  before 
the  summons  was  responded  to,  for  a  constable  was 
almost  instantly  on  the  spot. 

Mr.  Hildebrand  Flurscheim  dwelt  in  a  quarter  of  Lon- 
don greatly  favoured  by  rank,  fashion,  and  the  children 
of  Abraham.  His  house  was  at  the  corner  of  a  street 
turning  into  Park  Lane,  and  at  the  shrill  sound  of  the 
whistle  there  emerged  from  turning  after  turning  hel- 
meted  men  in  blue  who  with  one  accord  made  their  way 
at  paces  varying  with  each  man's  temperament  to  the 
place  where  the  excited  art  dealer  stood  beckoning  vig- 
orously. 

Mr.  Flurscheim  had  speedily  revealed  his  reason  for 


CONCERNING   THE    GREUZE  23 

giving  the  alarm.  The  house  was  surrounded  by  con- 
stables, and  two  of  the  force  accompanied  the  owner 
back  into  his  house,  which  they  proceeded  to  search  sys- 
tematically. At  this  time,  Mr.  Flurscheim  had  not  dis- 
covered his  loss  and  was  disposed  to  think  that  the  elec- 
tric alarm  had  frustrated  an  attempt  of  someone  to  enter 
his  abode.  But  when  he  arrived,  in  the  course  of  the 
search,  at  his  drawing-room  on  the  first  floor,  he  learned 
that  the  thief  had  been  only  too  successful  in  the  object 
which  had  brought  him  thither.  From  the  place  on  the 
wall  where  the  gem  of  his  collection,  the  Greuze,  which 
he  had  sworn  should  never  leave  his  possession  until 
£20,000  should  have  been  paid  into  his  banking  account, 
had  hung,  only  an  empty  frame  confronted  him,  while 
tossed  carelessly  aside  on  the  table  was  an  ordinary  table 
knife  which  had  been  used  for  the  purpose  of  cutting  the 
canvas  from  the  frame. 

Upon  the  discovery  of  his  loss,  Mr.  Flurscheim  had 
for  a  while  been  bereft  of  speech  and  movement.  When 
volition  returned  to  him}  he  behaved  as  one  demented. 
He  wrung  his  hands,  he  tore  his  hair  and  his  clothes,  and 
he  called  upon  the  God  of  Abraham  and  Isaac  and  Jacob 
to  visit  his  despoiler  with  condign  punishment. 

When  a  little  later  he  discovered  that  some  more  of  his 
choicest  treasures,  the  jewelled  snuff-boxes  of  which  he 
had  the  finest  collection  in  the  world,  had  been  carried 
away,  he  became  absolutely  frantic  with  grief,  so  that 
even  the  policemen  felt  moved  in  their  hearts  to  pity 
him. 

The  frenzy  did  not  endure  long.  A  thing  trifling  in 
itself  was  sufficient  to  restore  the  dealer  to  full  possession 
of  his  senses.  The  sergeant  of  police  who  had  accom- 


•24  THE   M ASTER  V CRIMINAL 

parried  him  into  the  room  had  pulled  out  his  note  book 
in  readiness  to  make  notes  of  the  occurrence,  when  a 
clock  on  the  mantel-shelf  struck  four.  At  the  sound, 
Flurscheim  became  still. 

"  Four  o'clock,"  he  murmured.  "  Four  o'clock. 
There's  no  time  to  lose.  We  must  be  doing."  He 
turned  to  the  policeman.  "  Sergeant,"  he  said  dejectedly, 
"  I  shall  trust  you  to  forget  the  exhibition  I  have  made 
of  myself— I " 

The  sergeant  answered  briskly.  "  Very  natural,  I'm 
sure,  sir.  Should  have  felt  just  like  it  myself,  though  I 
must  admit  I've  put  the  bracelets  on  many  a  man  who 
hasn't  said  half  as  much  as  you  have  done — of  course,  in 
the  public  streets,  sir." 

There  was  a  sickly  smile  on  Flurscheim's  face  as  he 
answered :  "  I  hope  none  of  them  had  such  good  reason 
for  cursing  as  I  have." 

He  did  not  pursue  the  topic.  With  an  effort  he  forced 
his  mind  from  contemplation  of  the  loss.  "  Hadn't  we 
better  leave  things  in  this  room  untouched,  while  we 
search  the  rest  of  the  house?  There  may  be  some  one 
of  the  burglars,  if  there  was  more  than  one,  still  on  the 
premises." 

The  sergeant  agreed.  But  the  search  was  a  fruitless 
one.  Mr.  Flurscheim's  butler  and  his  four  women  serv- 
ants were  the  only  other  persons  found  on  the  premises, 
and  after  their  unsuccessful  search  the  uniformed  mem- 
bers of  the  force  withdrew  and  the  dealer  sat  down  to 
await  the  arrival  of  the  detective  with  what  patience  he 
could  summon  to  his  aid. 

It  was  the  bitterest  moment  in  Flurscheim's  career. 
Despite  Lynton  Hora's  sneer,  it  was  not  the  monetary 


CONCERNING   THE   GREUZE  25 

value  of  his  loss  which  troubled  him,  for  though  he  dealt 
in  pictures  and  other  art  objects,  yet  he  never  parted  with 
any  of  his  treasures  without  a  poignant  feeling  of  regret. 
When  he  sold  them,  however,  he  knew  that  they  would 
pass  into  appreciative  hands,  that  they  would  be  guarded 
carefully  and  preserved  jealously.  To  him  they  were 
what  horses  are  to  one  man  or  dogs  to  another.  They 
were  his  companions,  his  friends,  his  children — and  to 
have  the  chief  of  them  ruthlessly  cut  from  its  frame  and 
carried  away,  he  knew  not  where,  was  as  if  his  household 
had  been  robbed  of  an  only  child. 

He  gazed  forlornly  at  the  empty  frame.  Since  the 
Greuze  had  come  into  his  possession,  never  a  night  had 
passed  without  his  taking  a  last  glance  at  it  before  going 
upstairs  to  bed,  never  a  morning  dawned  but  he  had 
feasted  his  eyes  upon  it  before  sitting  down  to  his  break- 
fast. To  live  alone  without  the  Greuze  seemed  to  him  an 
unthinkable  existence. 

Yet  the  frame  was  empty.  There  took  root  in  his  heart 
a  desire  for  revenge  upon  the  man  who  had  robbed  him. 

That  thought  matured  in  the  days  which  followed — 
the  days  which  came  swiftly  and  passed  swiftly,  but 
without  bringing  him  any  trace  of  his  treasure,  days  in 
which  the  detectives  continually  buoyed  him  up  with 
hopes  that  his  picture  was  on  the  ace  of  being  restored  to 
him. 

They  had  indeed  thought  that  the  task  would  not  have 
proved  a  difficult  one.  Their  inspection  of  the  room 
from  which  the  picture  had  been  stolen  had  led  to  the 
discovery  of  a  number  of  clues  to  work  upon.  They 
decided  that  an  entry  must  have  been  effected  through  a 
window  which  opened  upon  the  portico  over  the  front 


26  THE   MASTER   CRIMINAL 

door.  At  that  window  were  a  number  of  scarlet  berried 
shrubs,  and  some  of  the  berries  were  found  crushed  on 
the  carpet  inside.  On  the  balcony  they  discovered  a 
palette  knife,  with  smears  of  cobalt  and  chrome  upon  it, 
which  obviously  had  been  used  to  force  back  the  catch  of 
the  window.  For  days  afterwards,  detectives  might  have 
been  observed  knocking  at  the  doors  of  London  studios 
and  offering  themselves  as  models  to  aspiring  Academi- 
cians, in  the  hope  of  ascertaining  the  whereabouts  of 
the  missing  picture.  But  they  found  no  trace  of  the 
Greuze. 

On  the  knife-handle  too,  were  unmistakable  finger- 
prints, and  on  the  empty  frame  were  others.  All  were 
photographed,  and  hope  was  strong  that  the  identity  of 
the  thief  would  be  disclosed  thereby,  through  comparison 
with  the  records  of  convicts  at  Scotland  Yard.  But  when 
the  first  comparison  seemed  to  point  to  the  fact  that  every 
print  was  that  of  a  different  person,  and  closer  investi- 
gation proved  that  the  dirty  smudges  were  not  finger- 
prints at  all,  the  problem  became  indubitably  more  com- 
plex. As  for  the  knife  which  had  been  used  to  cut  the 
canvas  from  the  frame,  that  was  an  ordinary  table-knife, 
of  which  counterparts  might  have  been  discovered  in 
every  mean  house  in  the  metropolis,  and  it  supplied  no 
basis  for  any  theory  as  to  the  owner.  The  one  fact 
which  chiefly  puzzled  Scotland  Yard,  however,  was  the 
fact  that  no  suspicious  characters  had  been  observed  any- 
where in  the  neighbourhood,  while  the  position  of  the 
house  was  such  that  it  was  particularly  open  to  observa- 
tion. 

Standing  at  the  corner  of  two  streets,  in  a  neighbour- 
hood where  all  the  houses  would  be  described  in  a  house 


CONCERNING   THE   GREUZE  27 

agent's  catalogue  as  "  highly  desirable  family  town  resi- 
dences," it  was  under  observation  from  at  least  three 
quarters.  The  streets  at  three  or  four  o'clock  were  at 
that  time  practically  empty  of  all  pedestrians  save  the 
police.  Yet  not  a  member  of  the  police  on  duty  in  the 
vicinity  had  seen  a  suspicious  looking  character. 

This  was  the  more  astonishing,  because  two  extra  con- 
stables were  on  duty  that  night  in  the  near  neighbour- 
hood. They  had  been  detailed  for  duty  at  the  town  man- 
sion of  one  of  the  most  popular  of  society  hostesses,  Lady 
Greyston,  who  was  giving  the  first  of  her  dances  for  the 
season.  Lady  Greyston's  house  was  only  six  removed 
from  Mr.  Flurscheim's,  and  until  three  o'clock  one  of  the 
constables  had  been  stationed  at  the  corner  of  the  street, 
practically  at  Mr.  Flurscheim's  front  door,  in  order  to 
direct  the  carriages  arriving  to  pick  up  departing  guests. 
The  stream  of  carriages  had  thinned  shortly  after  three, 
and  then  the  constable  had  joined  a  colleague  at  the  door, 
but  at  no  time  during  the  night  had  anything  out  of  the 
way  attracted  his  attention.  The  police  were  quite  at  a 
loss  for  an  object  of  suspicion. 

But  while  Scotland  Yard  was  hopelessly  at  a  loss  for  a 
clue,  the  newspapers  had  been  busy  printing  stories  of 
the  crime,  which  did  great  credit  to  the  fertility  of  the 
imagination  of  the  reporters  who  were  detailed  to  work 
up  the  case.  Those  who  read  these  stories  might  have 
had  warrant  almost  for  believing  that  each  writer  must 
have  been  the  principal,  so  intimately  and  minutely  was 
the  crime  reconstructed. 

But  throughout  the  public  excitement  and  conjecture 
which  the  burglary  created,  Lynton  Hora  and  Guy  re- 
mained entirely  undisturbed,  or,  at  the  most,  merely  stirred 


28  THE   MASTER   CRIMINAL 

to  mild  amusement  as  each  new  theory  was  evolved — each 
was  so  very  wide  of  the  mark.  Yet  audacious  as  many 
of  these  theories  were,  none  of  them  paralleled  the  au- 
dacity of  the  real  attempt. 

How  the  burglary  had  been  carried  out  was  explained 
by  Guy  when,  refreshed  by  six  hours'  sleep  and  a  cold 
bath,  he  joined  Myra  and  Hora  at  the  breakfast  table. 

"  I  followed  your  plans  almost  exactly,"  he  said  to  the 
elder  man,  "  and  I  found  the  interior  of  the  house  pre- 
cisely as  you  described  it." 

"  H — m,"  chuckled  Hora,  glancing  at  a  print  hung 
upon  the  wall  opposite  him,  "that  Morland  would  have 
been  a  cheap  investment,  even  if  it  had  been  a  fake.  As 
it  is " 

"  As  it  is,"  laughed  Guy,  "  your  capital  has  returned 
to  you  more  than  a  thousandfold.  Still  I  can't  help  mar- 
velling at  your  wonderful  eye  for  detail.  You  could  not 
have  been  in  Flurscheim's  house  more  than  an  hour,  and 
yet  I  found  every  wire,  every  lock,  every  catch,  exactly 
where  you  told  me  I  should  find  them.  Some  of  the  doors 
and  windows  you  could  never  have  seen?  How  could 
you  know  ?  " 

"  It  was  not  through  any  capacity  for  seeing  through 
brick  walls,"  said  Hora  drily.  "  But  merely  a  deduc- 
tion from  what  Flurscheim  himself  did  not  tell  me.  He 
was  very  proud  of  a  system  of  alarm  designed  by  himself 
for  the  protection  of  his  treasures.  He  told  me  that  it 
was  impossible  for  a  window  sash  to  be  lifted  or  an  outer 
door  to  be  unlatched  without  setting  off  the  alarm — I  ob- 
served from  outside  that  the  attics  were  fitted  with  swing 
casements  and  I  drew  my  own  conclusions." 

"  You  omitted  to  inform  me  that  the  servants  slept  in 


CONCERNING   THE   GREUZE  29 

those  attics,"  remarked  Guy.  "  I  nearly  stepped  on  the 
bed  of  one  of  them  when  I  entered  the  window." 

"  So  that  is  why  you  left  by  the  front  door,  was  it?  " 
enquired  Hora.  "It  was  a  little  bit  risky,  wasn't  it?" 

"  No,"  said  the  young  man.  "  I  calculated  that  I 
should  get  a  minute's  start,  and  thirty  seconds  was  quite 
enough.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  I  had  a  clear  minute.  I 
looked  out  into  the  street  from  a  window  and  saw  that  the 
coast  was  clear  and  the  brougham  was  waiting.  There 
were  two  or  three  parties  just  leaving  Lady  Greyston's 
and  I  calculated  upon  being  able  to  join  them  without 
exciting  observation.  The  street  was  very  much  in 
shadow,  and  just  between  lights,  after  a  dance,  you  know, 
no  one  observes  very  clearly." 

"  Still  it  was  a  risk,"  observed  Hora.  "  I  should  have 
returned  by  the  way  I  had  gone." 

"  I  still  think  I  took  the  lesser  evil,"  replied  Guy.  "  Be- 
sides the  chance  of  finding  Flurscheim's  servants  awake, 
there  was  the  possibility  of  being  seen  from  the  street  as 
I  passed  along  the  parapet  back  to  the  window  of  the 
Greyston's  house.  Then  suppose  I  had  met  someone  on 
the  stairs  at  the  Greyston's.  The  function  was  practically 
over.  There  was  every  likelihood  that  some  of  the  serv- 
ants would  be  going  to  their  quarters — it  would  have 
been  deuced  unpleasant  to  have  had  to  explain  what  I 
was  doing  there." 

"  At  all  events,"  remarked  Hora,  "  you  ought  to  have 
cut  off  the  alarm.  Did  you  forget  how  to  do  it  ?  " 

A  smile  flickered  across  the  young  man's  face. 

"  No,"  he  said,  "  I  left  it  in  position  on  purpose.  I 
thought  I  should  like  to.  give  Flurscheim  a  sporting 
chance  of  getting  his  own  back.  There  were  just  two 


30  THE   MASTER   CRIMINAL 

flights  of  stairs  and  a  bedroom  door  between  us.  I 
thought  that  if  that  were  not  sufficient  to  enable  me  to 
get  away  I  should  deserve  to  be  captured." 

Myra,  who  had  been  listening  to  the  conversation  in 
silence,  half  uttered  an  exclamation.  But  she  checked  it 
so  that  only  Hora's  keen  ears  heard.  He  smiled,  but 
said  nothing.  Guy  continued  lazily :  "  You  see  that  I 
did  not  misjudge  the  conditions.  I  am  here."  Then  he 
repeated  the  words  he  had  used  a  few  hours  previously. 
"  You  must  set  me  a  more  difficult  task  next  time,  Com- 
mandatore." 

"  What  an  enthusiast  you  are,"  remarked  Hora.  "  If 
you  go  on  at  this  rate,  there  will  be  nothing  left  for  you 
to  do." 

"  I  hate  being  idle,"  remarked  the  young  man. 

"  Never  fear,  never  fear/'  said  Hora,  "  I  have  no  doubt 
you  will  manage  to  amuse  yourself.  You  did  so  last 
night,  did  you  not?  " 

Although  the  question  was  asked  carelessly,  the  young 
man  flushed  slightly  as  he  answered :  "  Tolerably  well." 

"  Only  tolerably  well  ?  "  asked  Hora,  "  and  yet  you 
postponed  your  enterprise  until  almost  too  late,  for  only 
'  tolerable '  amusement." 

"  Admitted,  Commandatore,"  answered  Guy  gaily, 
"  the  adverb  is  not  sufficient.  To  tell  the  truth,  I  met 
some  very  pleasant  people,  and  the  time  passed  swiftly." 

Myra  sprung  the  next  question. 

"  Who  were  they,  Guy?    Anyone  I  have  met?  " 

"  No,"  he  answered.  "  A  Captain  and  Mrs.  Marven 
and " 

He  did  not  get  to  the  end  of  his  sentence.  Lynton 
Hora  had  risen  from  his  chair  and  interrupted  him: 


CONCERNING   THE   GREUZE  31 

"  Who  did  you  say  ?  Say  the  name  again,"  he  cried 
hoarsely. 

Both  Myra  and  Guy  looked  at  him  in  amazement.  Hora 
was  not  given  to  showing  emotion,  and  there  could  be 
no  doubt  but  that  he  was  deeply  moved.  His  lips  were 
drawn  closely  together,  beads  of  perspiration  broke  out 
on  his  forehead,  every  line  in  his  face  deepened. 

"  What's  the  matter,  Commandatore — father  ?  "  cried 
Guy  in  alarm,  as  he  sprung  to  Hora's  side  and  laid  his 
hand  on  the  elder  man's  arm. 

Hora  shook  off  the  touch  roughly. 

"  Say  the  name  again,"  he  repeated. 

"  Marven,"  repeated  Guy,  "  Captain  Marven." 

Gradually  Hora  regained  control  of  himself.  His  fea- 
tures resumed  their  normal  air  of  petulant  acquiescence 
with  the  world,  but  there  was  a  gleam  in  his  eyes  which 
revealed  a  very  different  spirit  within  him.  Presently 
he  spoke. 

"  You  are  surprised  to  see  me  so  much  moved  by  the 
mention  of  a  name.  You  would  not  be  if  you  knew  what 
reason  I  have  to  hate  the  possessor  of  it.  So  you  found 
Captain  Marven  very  good  company,  eh,  Guy?"  He 
laughed  sardonically. 

"  Why,  yes,"  replied  the  young  man. 

"  I  wonder,"  he  mused,  "  if  you  would  have  thought 
him  as  entertaining  if  you  knew  the  part  he  has  played 
in  my  life." 

"  In  your  life  ?  "  queried  Myra  and  Guy  in  the  same 
breath. 

"  In  my  life,"  repeated  Hora  with  deliberation.  Then 
he  continued  in  accents  which  showed  how  deeply  mem- 
ories of  the  past  rankled :  "  That  is  the  manz  Guy,  to 


32  THE   MASTER   CRIMINAL 

whose  actions  my  quarrel  with  the  world  is  due.  Owing 
to  him  I  found  every  man's  hand  raised  against  me.  Ow- 
ing to  him  I  was  compelled  in  self-defence  to  raise  my 
hand  against  every  man.  Owing  to  him  I  became  an- 
other Ishmael — thrust  out  into  the  world,  branded,  a 
mark  for  every  man's  scorn  and  every  woman's  jeers. 
Oh,  I  have  taken  my  revenge  upon  the  scorners,"  he 
laughed  harshly,  "  but  not  upon  him — not  upon  him — 
yet." 

He  paused,  and  once  more,  it  was  only  with  an  effort 
that  he  regained  control  of  himself.  He  did  not  again 
trust  himself  to  speech.  He  turned  on  his  heel  abruptly. 
At  the  door  he  paused. 

"  You  have  given  me  much  to  think  about,  Guy,"  he 
said.  "  At  present  I  am  unable  to  think  calmly.  Some 
other  time  I  will  discuss  the  matter  with  you." 

He  left  the  room  swiftly  and  the  firm  step  of  his  sound 
leg  and  the  following  shuffle  as  he  dragged  the  other  foot 
along  after  it  was  the  only  sound  to  be  heard  until  the 
closing  of  another  door  told  Myra  and  Guy  that  he  had 
shut  himself  in  his  own  apartment. 


CHAPTER  III 

THE    MAKING   OF   A   CRIMINAL 

THE  philosophy  of  Lynton  Hora  had  for  once  given 
way  under  the  stress  of  a  deep  emotion.  There  could  be 
no  doubt  about  that,  and  no  doubt  either  that  the  emotion 
which  had  strained  the  philosophy  to  breaking  point  was 
the  emotion  of  hate. 

Never  before  had  Guy  seen  him  so  wrought  upon. 
Often  he  had  regretted  that  the  man  he  called  father 
should  have  been  of  so  calm  a  temperament — regretted 
even  while  he  admired.  Himself  of  an  impulsive,  even 
ardent  nature,  he  had  longed  to  express  his  feelings  to 
the  one  being  who  had  been  his  sole  companion  from  in- 
fancy, who  had  treated  him  with  unfailing  and  unvarying 
kindness,  but  who  chilled,  with  what  appeared  to  be  tem- 
peramental coldness,  any  expression  of  affection. 

Guy  was  thrilled  with  the  discovery  that  a  deep  sea  of 
passion  underlay  Hora's  cold  exterior.  If  Hora  hated, 
of  necessity  he  must  love. 

He  must  love  him,  Guy  Hora,  his  son.  Did  not  every 
action  in  his  life  show  it? 

The  thought  awakened  Guy's  memory  actively.  His 
earliest  memories  were  of  the  Commandatore.  He  had 
no  knowledge  of  a  mother,  or  but  shadowy  recollections, 
and  those  might  merely  be  the  offspring  of  his  own 
imagination.  Lynton  Hora  had  been  father  and  mother 
both.  Guy  could  recall  Hora's  face  bending  over  his 

33 


34  THE   MASTER   CRIMINAL 

bed  in  the  days  of  his  babyhood.  He  had  one  vivid 
recollection  of  being  parted  from  his  father  when  he  him- 
self was  about  seven  years  old.  He  had  been  left  in  the 
charge  of  some  dark-haired,  swarthy-faced  people,  and 
they  had  neglected  him — had  beaten  him.  How  he  had 
cried  for  his  father,  and  when  his  father  had  returned, 
he  remembered  running  to  him  and  sobbing  out  his  tale 
of  misery.  He  remembered  how  Hora  had  told  him  that 
men  never  cried  when  they  were  hurt,  and  that  he, 
stricken  with  shame,  had  answered  that  it  was  not  the 
beating  but  the  loneliness  which  had  brought  the  tears 
to  his  eyes. 

Hora  had  smiled  and  had  left  him  alone  for  a  few  min- 
utes. He  had  smiled  still  more  when  he  had  returned. 
Guy  remembered  seeing  the  man  who  had  beaten  him  later 
that  same  day  with  a  bruised  face  and  an  arm  hanging 
helpless  in  a  sling  from  his  neck. 

But  that  was  not  his  most  vivid  memory  of  Hora's 
return.  Chiefly  it  was  a  conversation  that  took  place 
when  Hora  had  taken  the  boy's  hand  and  led  him  up  into 
the  mountains.  Often  the  boy  had  recalled  the  words 
which  had  been  spoken  to  him.  He  could  never  see  a 
pine  tree  without  their  being  fresh  spoken  to  his  ear,  for 
they  had  been  uttered  beneath  the  pine  woods,  on  the  edge 
of  a  translucent  mountain  lake,  which  mirrored  the 
snowy  peaks  above  it  so  perfectly  that  it  seemed  strange 
that  the  pebbles  at  the  bottom  could  not  be  counted. 

Hora  had  taken  the  boy's  tears  as  his  text 

"  Women  weep  when  they  are  hurt,"  he  said.  "  Men 
strike  back.  Remember  that,  Guy;  remember  too  that 
if  you  cannot  strike  with  the  arm,  there  are  other  ways  of 
Sdriving  the  blow  home." 


THE    MAKING   OF   A   CRIMINAL          35 

Though  Guy  had  understood  the  meaning  of  Hora's 
words  but  dimly  then,  he  had  remembered  them,  and 
later  he  understood.  Hora  had  often  given  him  practical 
illustration  of  his  precepts.  He  never  forgot  an  injury  or 
a  slight,  and  Guy  was  often  allowed  to  see  how  Hora 
avenged  either.  Memory  has  no  chronological  exactitude, 
and  as  Guy  allowed  his  thoughts  to  drift,  an  instance  oc- 
curred to  him  which  had  happened  some  years  later. 
They  had  been  travelling  in  France  together  and  had  been 
hurrying  on  to  Italy.  The  one  other  traveller  in  the 
same  compartment  had  been  a  blusterous  Englishman  of 
the  most  unpleasantly  self-assertive  type.  Hora  had  at- 
tempted to  engage  him  in  conversation  and  had  met  with 
a  surly  repulse.  When  the  frontier  was  reached,  the  as- 
sertive person  was  asleep.  Hora  had  dexterously  pos- 
sessed himself  of  the  man's  watch  and  when  the  custom's 
official  made  his  appearance  had  transferred,  with  equal 
dexterity,  the  watch  to  his  pocket,  leaving  a  portion  of 
the  chain  visible.  When  awakened,  the  Englishman  dis- 
covered his  loss  almost  immediately.  The  official  was  be- 
fore him  asking  him  in  a  language  he  did  not  comprehend, 
whether  he  had  any  dutiable  articles  to  declare.  The 
visible  piece  of  chain  caught  the  eye  of  the  excited  pas- 
senger. He  made  a  grab  at  the  presumed  thief.  The 
official,  thinking  he  was  being  attacked  by  a  madman, 
made  a  wild  dive  for  the  door  and  reached  the  platform. 
The  Englishman  followed  in  pursuit  and  captured  his 
man.  There  was  a  wild  melee,  from  which  the  victim 
did  not  emerge  victorious.  When  the  train  moved  on, 
Hora  was  gratified  by  seeing  their  late  companion  inef- 
fectually struggling  in  the  grasp  of  half-a-dozen  stalwart 
carabineri. 


36  THE    MASTER   CRIMINAL 

Guy  was  fifteen  years  old  when  this  event  had  hap- 
pened, and  long  before  then  he  had  imbibed  from  his 
father  ideas  of  morality  which  were  directly  at  variance 
with  those  generally  accepted.  Guy  could  never  remem- 
ber a  time  when  Hora  had  bade  him  restrain  any  desire. 
How  well  he  recalled  a  day,  he  could  not  have  been  more 
than  six,  when  they  had  passed  a  shop  wherein  a  basket 
of  golden  oranges  were  displayed.  "  Buy  me  one,"  he 
had  cried.  Hora  had  stopped.  There  was  no  one  in  the 
shop.  "  I'll  teach  you  a  new  game,"  he  said.  "  Go  and 
fetch  a  couple,  Guy.  Mind  you  choose  the  best,"  he 
said. 

Guy  had  obeyed  and  Hora  had  praised  him.  As  Guy 
ate  the  oranges  he  thought  the  game  the  best  he  had  ever 
heard  of.  Next  day  they  had  passed  the  shop  and  Guy 
was  about  to  repeat  the  foray,  but  Hora  had  restrained 
him. 

"  Look,  Guy,"  he  said.  "  There  is  somebody  there 
now;  when  you  want  oranges  or  anything  else  without 
paying  you  must  be  quite  sure  there  is  no  one  about,  or 
you  will  lose  the  game." 

Guy  remembered  the  precept  and  acted  upon  it.  It 
was  a  delightful  new  game  for  anyone  to  play,  if  you  were 
only  clever  enough  to  play  it  properly.  He  used  to  beg 
Hora  to  take  him  out  for  a  day's  stealing,  and  sometimes, 
as  a  reward  for  perseverance  in  his  studies,  Hora  would 
accede  to  the  boy's  request.  He  had  no  notion  that  he 
was  doing  anything  wrong,  though  he  had  been  taught 
that  there  were  things  he  must  not  do.  He  knew  that 
he  must  not  tell  his  father  a  lie ;  he  knew  too  that  he  was 
to  be  silent  when  bidden. 

Of  course  a  time  had  eventually  arrived  when  he  had 


THE    MAKING   OF   A   CRIMINAL          37 

become  conscious  that  there  was  some  lack  of  harmony 
between  the  life  he  and  his  father  led  and  the  lives  of  those 
upon  whom  they  preyed.  Hora  had  taken  the  boy  to  see 
a  big  penal  establishment  and  his  curiosity  had  been, 
stirred  as  to  the  reason  of  this  gathering  of  men  in  mud- 
coloured  garb,  marked  all  over  with  broad  arrows.  "  Why 
are  they  all  dressed  alike?  Why  do  their  masters  carry 
guns  ?  "  he  asked. 

Hora  had  silenced  him  with  a  sign  at  the  time,  but 
later,  when  they  were  alone,  he  had  explained. 

"  They  are  all  men  who  have  been  trying  to  play  the 
game  of  stealing  and  have  lost,"  he  said.  "  If  you  were 
to  get  caught,  you  would  be  taken  away  and  shut  up  at 
night  in  a  cell  all  alone,  and  dressed  in  ugly  clothes,  and 
when  you  went  out  men  with  guns  would  be  set  to  watch 
you  so  that  they  should  shoot  you  if  you  tried  to  run 
away." 

"Have  you  ever  been  caught,  father?"  Guy  asked. 

Hora  had  never  replied  to  that  question.  His  face  had 
grown  so  dark  that  Guy  had  forborne  to  press  for  an 
answer,  and  the  memory  of  the  singular  expression  which 
had  passed  over  his  countenance  had  been  sufficient  to 
prevent  Guy  ever  repeating  the  enquiry. 

After  the  visit  to  the  convict  establishment,  Guy  had 
been  timorous  at  playing  his  new  game,  but  Hora  had 
chaffed  him,  advised  him,  stood  beside  him,  protected 
him,  until  he  became  exceedingly  dexterous  in  a  variety  of 
forms  of  petty  larceny.  He  was  never  allowed  at  this 
time  to  mix  with  other  boys.  Hora  had  him  always  under 
his  own  eye,  educating  him  according  to  a  system  which 
was  a  fair  sample  of  the  average  boy's  education  as  re- 
gards matter,  but  differing  vastly  from  the  average  boy's 


^8  THE   MASTER   CRIMINAL 

education  as  regards  the  application  of  the  knowledge 
imparted  to  him. 

Caesar  was  never  to  him  a  mere  handbook  by  which 
the  intricacies  of  a  dead  language  were  revealed,  but  a 
wonderful  history  of  a  man  who  played  the  game  of 
stealing  in  a  great  way.  Hora  made  quite  clear  to  the 
boy's  mind  that  there  was  only  a  difference  in  degree 
between  the  stealing  of  oranges  and  the  stealing  of  king- 
doms, but  that  if  one  wanted  to  steal  kingdoms  it  was 
just  as  well  to  begin  early  and  learn  the  principles  of  the 
art  by  stealing  oranges.  He  explained,  too,  that  the 
world  looked  with  very  different  eyes  upon  the  theft  of 
a  crown  and  the  theft  of  an  orange~or  an  apple.  The 
man  who  annexed  an  empire  was  an  emperor  whom  men 
acclaimed  and  set  on  a  throne  in  a  garb  of  purple,  while 
the  man  who  stole  a  loaf  of  bread  to  assuage  his  hunger 
was  a  petty  thief  at  whom  the  world  hurled  opprobrium 
and  thrust  into  a  prison,  garbed  in  mud-coloured  clothes 
and  covered  over  with  broad  arrows. 

Guy  began  to  comprehend  what  Hora  intended  him  to 
comprehend,  that  there  was  something  mean  about  petty 
theft,  and  he  no  longer  found  pleasure  in  his  game,  but 
turned  instead  to  the  weaving  of  romances  of  magnificent 
depredations. 

Even  the  fiction  which  was  supplied  by  Hora  for  the 
boy's  amusement  was  insidiously  utilised  for  the  incul- 
cation of  the  same  perverted  morality.  With  Robinson 
Crusoe,  for  instance,  it  was  easy  for  a  man  of  Hora's 
equipment  to  make  fun  of  Crusoe's  naive  dependence 
upon  Providence  and  his  exhibition  of  piety  in  moments 
of  stress.  Hora  pointed  out  that  Crusoe's  prayers  were 
mere  expression  of  the  terror  of  an  uneducated  mind 


THE    MAKING   OF   A   CRIMINAL          39 

when  confronted  with  personal  danger — of  a  mind  which 
had  been  trained  in  youth  to  rely  upon  supernatural  agen- 
cies for  relief  and  comfort.  He  pointed  out  that  Cru- 
soe really  secured  his  own  safety  through  the  exercise 
of  his  own  constructive  and  observatory  powers,  and 
through  no  other  agency. 

As  Guy  grew  older,  Hora  sedulously  built  upon  the 
foundation  of  disbelief  which  he  laid  down  as  the  basis 
of  the  boy's  education.  Guy  was  taught  that  religion  was 
merely  the  means  by  which  a  priestarchy  levied  toll  upon 
the  body  corporate  by  playing  upon  inherited  supersti- 
tions— while  history  supplied  him  with  plenty  of  illus- 
trations. History  supplied  him,  too,  with  plenty  of  ex- 
amples to  point  the  arguments  with  which  he  supported 
what  was  in  effect  a  complete  criminal  philosophy.  Guy 
was  not  taught  only  that  atheism  was  the  hope  of  hu- 
manity. Hora  had  read  much  of  Neitzsche,  and  he  skil- 
fully adopted  the  Neitzschean  philosophy  to  his  purpose. 
A  particular  appeal  to  Guy's  mind  was  to  be  found  in 
Hora's  definition  of  virtue,  as  a  thirst  for  danger  and 
courage  for  the  forbidden.  As  translated  by  Hora,  both 
in  precept  and  in  practice,  the  highest  virtue  was  to  be 
found  in  the  breaking  of  laws.  He  imbibed  the  doctrines 
with  avidity,  for  Hora  had  a  persuasive  tongue.  He 
learned  at  the  same  time  to  keep  them  to  himself,  for,  as 
Hora  explained,  if  sheep  knew  as  much  as  men,  men 
would  have  no  mutton. 

Until  eighteen,  Guy's  education  progressed  under  his 
father's  tuition,  and  then,  feeling  sure  of  him,  Hora 
thought  it  time  to  launch  him  on  the  world.  Guy  went 
to  Oxbridge  to  make  acquaintance  with  his  fellows,  to 
survey  the  flock  of  sheep  which  were  to  supply  him  with 


40  THE   MASTER   CRIMINAL 

mutton  in  the  future.  The  time  then  passed  pleasantly 
enough,  and  plenty  of  active  exercise  supplied  him  with 
a  vent  for  his  energies.  He  did  not  shear  any  of  the 
sheep,  for  Hora  had  bidden  him  stay  his  hand.  A  blame- 
less university  career  would,  he  knew,  be  of  great  value 
in  the  future. 

When  Guy  came  down  from  the  University  it  was  with 
the  reputation  of  being  one  of  its  wildest  spirits.  Great 
things  were  predicted  of  him.  Others  might  excel  him 
in  individual  efforts  in  the  field  and  the  schools,  but  none 
could  excel  him  in  fearlessness  of  demeanour.  Besides, 
Hora's  education  had  supplied  him  with  a  serene  belief 
in  himself,  which  had  been  communicated  to  those  with 
whom  he  came  in  contact.  He  had  been  the  leader  of  a 
set,  the  model  for  the  freshman,  the  autocrat  of  his  time. 
Like  most  autocrats,  he  cherished  a  profound  contempt 
for  those  who  bowed  down  before  him.  He  was  to  them 
as  his  father  was  to  him,  something  so  much  greater  than 
they  that  their  tribute  became  merely  a  thing  of  no  ac- 
count. He  understood  why  his  father  had  no  affection 
for  him.  How  could  anyone  love  the  thing  beneath; 
the  moth  could  love  the  star,  but  the  star  could  not  love 
the  moth — and 

Guy  awoke  from  the  reverie  into  which  he  had  been 
betrayed  by  his  father's  emotion  on  hearing  the  name  of 
Captain  Marven  mentioned.  He  was  quite  alone.  Myra 
had  left  the  room  after  vainly  trying  to  engage  his  at- 
tention. His  hand  unconsciously  sought  his  pocket,  and, 
when  he  drew  it  out,  he  held  in  his  palm  the  snuff-box 
he  had  reserved  for  himself  from  the  booty  he  had 
brought  home  on  the  previous  night.  He  gazed  earnestly 
at  the  miniature  set  in  the  lid. 


THE    MAKING   OF   A   CRIMINAL          41 

"  So  Captain  Marven  is  father's  enemy,"  he  muttered, 
"  and  this — this  must  be  a  portrait  of  Captain  Marven's 
daughter." 

His  face  grew  troubled.  His  brow  puckered.  He 
thrust  the  box  back  into  his  pocket  and  rose  impatiently 
from  his  se'at. 

"Bah!"  he  said,  "what  says  the  Commandatore ? 
Man  is  trained  for  war,  and  woman  for  the  relaxation  of 
the  warrior ;  all  else  is  folly." 


CHAPTER    IV 

THE    REFLECTIONS    OF    LYNTON    HORA 

THERE  was  undoubted  reason  why  the  name  of  Mar- 
ven  should  move  Lynton  Hora  to  emotion.  It  swept  him 
back  over  the  thirty  years  which  bridged  him  from  his 
youth.  He  would  not  have  answered  to  the  name  of 
Hora  in  those  days ;  the  days  when  he  and  Richard  Marven 
— "  Gay  "  Marven — had  been  subalterns  together  in  the 
same  cavalry  regiment.  But  the  name  he  had  borne  then 
was  buried  and  forgotten  long  since,  and  the  young  man 
who  had  borne  it  was  dead  to  the  knowledge  of  the  world, 
though  his  virtues  and  his  sins,  his  memories  and  hatreds 
— most  certainly  his  hatreds — lived  actively  in  the  re- 
cluse connoisseur  and  antiquarian,  Lynton  Hora. 

He  had  had  good  reason  for  burying  his  earlier  self — 
an  all-sufficing  excuse  for  blotting  out  his  existence 
from  his  regimental  companions,  from  the  friends  of  his 
youth,  from  the  parents  who  had  wept  over  his  downfall 
perhaps  even  more  than  they  had  mourned  the  presumed 
death  which  had  followed  his  punishment. 

The  name  of  Marven  had  brought  vividly  before  his 
mind  a  picture  of  the  bitterest  moment  of  his  life.  Never 
could  the  memory  of  that  moment  lose  the  poignancy  of 
its  sting.  The  hollow  square  in  the  barrack  yard,  the 
epaulets  he  had  once  worn  on  his  shoulder  lying  on  the 
ground,  the  look  of  scorn  on  the  faces  of  his  brother  offi- 
cers and  reflected  on  the  faces  of  the  men  who  had  been 

42 


REFLECTIONS   OF   LYNTON  HORA        43 

till  then  beneath  him,  for  the  convicted  thief,  he  saw 
these  things  clearly  at  the  mention  of  Captain  Marven's 
name. 

He  had  always  held  that  Marven  was  responsible  for 
his  dishonour,  Marven  who  had  everything  which  he, 
Hora,  had  desired  and  which  fate  had  denied  him.  On 
the  day  he  had  first  met  him  envy  had  entered  into  his 
heart.  The  contented  smile  on  Marven's  face,  the  ex- 
pression which  declared  that  everything  is  the  best  possi- 
ble in  the  best  possible  world,  had  irritated  him.  Hora 
had  not  shown  his  irritation !  Early  in  his  youth  he  had 
learned  to  control  the  expression  of  his  feelings.  But 
companionship  had  deepened  the  irritation  day  by  day. 
Gay  Marven  was  the  most  popular  man  in  the  mess, 
Hora  the  least.  Marven  was  wealthy,  a  credit  to  a  smart 
cavalry  regiment;  Hora's  allowance  barely  sufficed  to 
meet  the  bare  necessary  expenditure,  and  so  he  was  de- 
barred from  indulging  in  the  extravagances  which  his 
comrade  affected. 

Some  of  them  sneered  at  him  and  Hora  attributed  the 
sneers  to  Marven's  influence,  though  wrongfully,  and  his 
irritation  became  anger. 

Later,  a  greater  cause  of  jealousy  arose  through  the 
interposition  of  the  essential  feminine  element  in  all 
drama.  Hora  had  fallen  hopelessly  in  love,  and  he  had 
reason  to  think  that  the  affection  he  had  bestowed  would 
be  returned.  Then  Marven  appeared  on  the  scene,  and 
Hora's  hopes  had  vanished.  Marven  had  only  to  be  nat- 
ural to  dazzle  the  eyes  of  all  beholders  with  the  rays  of 
his  sunshiny  disposition.  Hora's  temperament  was  of 
an  intellectual  coldness  more  likely  to  provoke  esteem 
than  love.  The  attack  of  erotitis  which  affected  both  of 


44  THE   MASTER   CRIMINAL 

them  accentuated  in  each  his  natural  characteristics. 
Marven  became  more  brilliant  than  ever,  Hora  more 
passionately  reserved.  Then  Hora,  his  natural  judgment 
in  suspension,  had  imagined  that  it  would  be  possible  to 
out-dazzle  Marven.  Reckless  of  consequences,  he  joined 
in  all  the  pursuits  from  which  he  had  hitherto  stood 
aloof.  His  useful  charger  had  been  replaced  by  two 
magnificent  mounts.  His  tailor  had  been  made  tempo- 
rarily happy  by  a  swiftly  swelling  account.  He  had  be- 
gun to  entertain  lavishly — a  year's  income,  apart  from 
his  pay,  would  not  have  met  one  single  week's  expendi- 
ture. He  had  known  that  the  pace  could  not  last,  but 
fate  had  been  kind  to  him  at  the  outset.  He  had  specu- 
lated on  the  turf  and  had  won.  From  the  card  table, 
too,  he  rarely  rose  a  loser  and  the  play  that  went  on  in 
the  card  room  of  the  mess,  when  the  Colonel  was  not 
there,  would  have  genuinely  shocked  the  commanding 
officer,  had  he  been  aware  of  the  amount  of  the  stakes  at 
issue.  Hora's  comrades  thought  he  had  come  in  for  a 
legacy,  and  he  was  no  longer  deemed  a  discredit  to  their 
ranks. 

Though  delayed,  the  day  when  the  inevitable  reckoning 
was  to  be  met  could  not  be  averted  forever.  When  for- 
tune frowned,  instead  of  smiling  upon  his  turf  specula- 
tions, he  was  forced  to  visit  the  Jews.  There  he  could 
obtain  but  trifling  accommodation,  for  he  had  never  had 
any  expectations,  and  was  heir  to  nothing  but  an  un- 
stained name.  Even  the  five  hundred  pounds  he  had  ul- 
timately raised  was  only  advanced  at  ruinous  interest  on 
a  three  months'  bill.  He  had  plunged  more  wildly  than 
ever.  He  had  lost.  He  had  become  short  of  cash  to  meet 
his  daily  out-of-pocket  expenses.  Even  then,  he  might 


REFLECTIONS  OF  LYNTON  HORA   45 

have  been  saved  from  utter  extinction  had  not  he  imag- 
ined that  he  had  succeeded  in  putting  his  rival  in  the 
shade.  He  had  staked  everything  upon  one  last  hazard. 
There  had  been  under  his  control  certain  regimental 
funds.  He  had  made  use  of  them,  knowing  full  well 
that  so  soon  as  his  anticipated  engagement  was  an- 
nounced he  would  have  no  difficulty  in  obtaining  a  fur- 
ther loan,  since  the  object  of  rivalry  between  Marven  and 
himself  was  wealthy,  as  well  as  beautiful.  With  that 
loan  he  had  counted  on  being  able  to  replace  the  money 
he  had  embezzled.  But  Marven  was  before  him,  and  the 
day  Marven's  engagement  to  Beatrice  Challys  was  an- 
nounced an  unexpected  investigation  of  Hora's  accounts 
by  the  Colonel  of  the  regiment  disclosed  the  defalcation. 
Hora  was  placed  under  arrest,  and  the  torrent  rushed 
over  him. 

When  he  had  reached  his  own  apartment,  Lynton 
Hora  spared  himself  not  a  single  pang  of  bitterness  of 
the  memories  of  what  had  followed.  The  weary  days 
under  arrest,  the  long-drawn-out  inquiries,  the  court 
martial,  the  day  of  the  promulgation  of  the  sentence, 
when  he  was  drummed  out  of  the  regiment,  and  had 
walked  out  of  the  barrack  yard  into  the  hands  of  the 
civil  police,  who  were  awaiting  him  to  bring  him  to 
further  trial. 

He  had  been  spared  nothing.  There  was  no  influence 
which  could  have  been  exerted  to  save  him  from  any  one 
of  the  ignominies  which  he  had  incurred.  He  had  sup- 
plied an  excellent  example  for  exhibiting  the  impartiality 
of  the  law.  No  private  in  the  ranks  should  be  able  to 
say  that  he  received  harsher  treatment  than  the  officer  of 
a  crack  cavalry  regiment. 


46  THE   MASTER   CRIMINAL 

He  had  faced  his  punishment  bravely,  indeed,  he  had 
welcomed  the  solitude  of  the  cell  when  he  had  eventually 
exchanged  his  cavalry  dress  for  another  of  H.  M.'s  uni- 
forms. There  he  had  not  to  meet  the  scorn  of  men's 
eyes. 

One  by  one  he  recalled  the  incidents.  They  had  never 
ceased  to  pain  him,  even  though  he  tried  to  laugh  at  his 
weakness  in  imagining  that  the  wound  to  his  pride  still 
rankled.  But  he  would  not  have  been  without  that  smart- 
ing sore.  He  took  the  same  fierce  satisfaction  in  the 
pain  with  which  the  martyrs  of  Smithfield  solaced  them- 
selves as  they  thrust  their  arms  into  the  fire.  He  told 
himself  always  that  the  mental  suffering,  the  intolerable 
scorn  he  had  faced,  had  shown  him  the  world  as  it  is, 
and  not  as  it  pretends  to  be.  He  postulated  a  deceitful, 
hypocritical  world  with  a  smile  on  its  face  for  the  man 
of  wealth,  and  a  frown  and  a  brick  for  the  poor  devil 
who  had  the  will  to  enjoy  and  not  the  means  to  gratify 
his  longings. 

Before  his  disgrace  he  had  hated  only  one  man — after- 
wards he  hated  all  men,  and  at  least  one  woman — she 
who  preferred  Gay  Marven,  fortune's  favourite,  to  him- 
self, fortune's  scapegoat.  But  in  addition  to  enabling 
him  to  appreciate  the  smiles  and  frowns  of  the  world 
at  their  proper  worth  he  told  himself  that  his  experience 
had  made  a  man  of  him.  It  certainly  left  him  a  pur- 
poseful, resourceful,  scrupleless  being,  with  a  definite 
object  in  existence. 

That  object  was  revenge.  Revenge  on  the  world 
which  had  scorned  him,  revenge  on  the  world  which  had 
labelled  him  criminal,  revenge  above  all  upon  Marven. 

He  had  made  all  his  plans  long  before  his  sentence  had 


47 

expired.  He  saw  that  he  must  die  to  the  world  if  the  fu- 
ture was  to  have  any  promise  at  all,  for  a  past,  such  as 
his,  would  have  been  an  incubus  no  man  might  carry  for 
long.  So,  when  his  term  of  imprisonment  was  over,  he 
disappeared  in  the  broad  light  of  day.  At  least  the  ex- 
convict  disappeared  from  English  eyes  when  he  sculled 
out  to  sea  in  a  fair-weather  craft  from,  a  south  coast 
watering-place.  A  day  or  two  later  the  overturned  boat 
was  picked  up  with  the  ex-convict's  coat  still  entangled  in 
the  seat,  and  with  his  ticket-of-leave  still  in  the  pocket. 
There  was  nothing  to  connect  the  Lynton  Hora  who  a 
few  weeks  later  landed  from  an  English  tramp  steamer 
at  an  Italian  port  with  the  missing  man. 

Hora  had  not  found  existence  present  many  difficul- 
ties. He  had  buried  his  scruples  with  his  identity,  and  a 
man  of  brains,  with  courage  and  no  scruples,  need  never 
look  very  far  for  the  means  of  subsistence.  For  a  while 
he  preyed  on  British  tourists.  They  were  of  his  own 
race,  and,  therefore,  his  chiefest  "enemies,  and,  besides, 
he  knew  that,  since  he  would  need  a  place  where  he 
might  build  a  reputation  and  a  new  identity  if  his  pur- 
poses were  to  be  fulfilled,  it  would  be  unwise  to  prey 
upon  the  inhabitants  of  the  selected  spot.  Italy  appealed 
to  him.  He  became  to  all  intents  and  purposes  Italian. 
An  English  soap-maker's  wife,  "  seeing "  the  Eternal 
City,  supplied  him,  unwittingly,  with  funds  to  purchase 
a  vineyard  in  Tuscany.  He  stocked  his  farm  and  fur- 
nished a  house  with  the  contents  of  a  duchess'  jewel 
casket.  The  capital  necessary  for  pursuing  his  agri- 
cultural operations  was  provided  indirectly  by  the  Ca- 
sino authorities  at  Monte  Carlo.  Hora  had  ventured  no 
stake  at  the  tables.  He  had  merely  relieved  a  successful 


48  THE   MASTER   CRIMINAL 

gambler  of  his  winnings.  Thus  provided  with  a  home, 
he  had  paid  a  visit  to  England.  When  he  returned,  six 
months  later,  he  brought  his  reputed  son  with  him,  a 
child  of  three;  and  away  in  England,  his  old  comrade, 
now  Captain  Marven,  together  with  Mrs.  Marven,  had 
mourned  beside  an  empty  cot  in  their  nursery. 

Hora  had  succeeded  in  the  initial  step  towards  the 
accomplishment  of  his  revenge.  But  this  had  been  only 
the  first  step.  His  appetite  was  not  to  be  sated  with 
one  simple  meal  of  vengeance.  His  rival,  like  himself, 
should  never  be  allowed  to  forget  his  loss.  So  punctu- 
ally every  year,  on  the  anniversary  of  the  stolen  boy's 
birthday,  Marven  had  received  a  brief  type-written  note 
stating  that  the  child  was  alive  and  well — nothing  more. 
Hora  would  gladly  have  signed  the  note  with  his  forgot- 
ten name,  but  that  thereby  he  might  have  incurred  dan- 
ger to  himself  and  the  overthrow  of  his  whole  scheme  of 
revenge.  When  the  appointed  time  came,  when  the 
child  was  full  grown,  when  by  his  own  acts  the  child 
should  be  damned  beyond  all  redemption — then  the 
woman  who  had  refused  his  offer  of  marriage  should 
have  her  son  restored  to  her,  the  rival  who  had  won  that 
woman's  love  from  him  should  have  the  paternity  of  the 
criminal  thrust  upon  him,  and  the  whole  world  should  be 
made  aware  of  Guy's  real  parentage.  That  was  the  com- 
plete scheme  of  revenge  Hora  contemplated;  to  con- 
summate which  he  had  instilled  into  the  baby  ears  the 
subtle  poison  of  his  perverted  morality,  had  skilfully 
taken  advantage  of  the  boy's  adventurous  nature  to  in- 
terest him  in  the  romantic  possibilities  of  a  criminal 
career,  had  laboured  and  watched  the  unfolding  of  a 
mind  with  the  patience  of  a  Japanese  gardener  produc- 


REFLECTIONS  OF  LYNTON  HORA   49 

ing  a  dwarfed  and  twisted  miniature  of  a  fair  tree  of 
the  forest. 

He  had  been  discreet  in  his  work.  He  had  no  intention 
of  making  of  his  pupil  a  rod  for  his  own  scourging.  His 
conception  of  the  great  criminal  he  desired  to  make  of 
Guy  had  nothing  in  common  with  the  average  concep- 
tion of  a  person  given  to  indulgence  in  all  the  common- 
place vices  of  humanity.  Self-control  he  had  early  real- 
ised was  of  more  importance  to  the  man  who  was 
waging  single-handed  warfare  with  the  world,  than  to- 
the  units  of  the  community  with  whom  he  was  at  issue. 
His  own  predilections,  too,  were  instinctively  refined. 
The  grosser  forms  of  self-indulgence  had  never  appealed 
to  him.  He  was  an  epicure  of  life,  and  had  no  desire 
to  spoil  his  palate  with  a  surfeit  of  coarse  pleasures.  Clean 
living  himself,  he  demanded  cleanliness  of  life  in  those 
about  him.  To  what  happened  outside  of  his  own  house- 
hold he  was  cynically  indifferent. 

Guy  had  proved  a  credit  to  his  training.  He  was 
healthy  in  body,  full  of  the  enthusiasm  of  living,  and 
possessed  of  a  fine  rapture  for  the  profession  to  which 
he  had  served  his  apprenticeship.  Almost  the  time  was 
ripe  for  the  consummation  of  Hora's  revenge,  when 
chance  had  brought  Guy  into  contact  with  his  real  par- 
ents. This  was  a  contingency  Hora  had  not  foreseen, 
and  it  needed  careful  consideration.  He  did  not  fear 
that  the  relationship  would  be  disclosed.  Guy  himself 
had  no  suspicion  of  the  facts.  He  knew  no  parent  but 
Hora,  though  he  believed  that  he  remembered  the  mother 
whom  Hora  had  invented  for  his  benefit,  whose  portrait 
hung  on  the  wall  of  his  bedroom,  and  of  whom  Hora 
had  spoken  to  him  on  many  occasions.  Yes,  Guy  Mar- 


50  THE   MASTER   CRIMINAL 

ven's  real  identity  was  sufficiently  sunken  in  that  of  Guy 
Hora  to  ensure  him  against  discovery,  even  though  phy- 
sical likeness  should  lead  to  comment. 

Yet,  Hora's  first  emotion,  on  learning  that  his  foster- 
son  had  met  his  father  and  mother,  was  one  he  thought 
he  had  banished  forever.  A  sensation  of  fear  had  passed 
over  him,  a  dread  lest  the  natural  inclination  of  son  to 
mother  should  manifest  itself,  lest  the  blood  which  pulsed 
eagerly  in  the  son's  arteries  should  cry  out  to  the  blood 
which  ran  more  sluggishly  in  his  father's  veins,  and,  his 
own  mock  relationship  disestablished,  there  be  destroyed 
the  living  instrument  for  his  revenge  he  had  spent  so 
many  years  in  fashioning.  Nor  had  his  only  fear  been 
for  the  loss  of  his  whole  scheme  of  revenge.  He  realised, 
for  the  first  time,  that  his  interest  in  Guy  was  more  than 
that  of  the  artist  in  his  artistry.  Guy  had  always  looked 
to  him,  had  repaid  him  for  his  attention  with  all  the 
warmth  of  an  affectionate  nature.  He  was  the  one  be- 
ing in  whom,  save  Myra,  Hora  had  taken  a  personal  in- 
terest. Suppose  someone  else  were  to  take  his,  Hora's, 
place  in  the  young  man's  thoughts?  The  dread  was  in 
his  mind,  though  he  would  not  acknowledge  it — though 
he  denied  its  existence.  That  would  be  a  piece  of  senti- 
mentalism  utterly  foreign  to  his  whole  nature.  He  told 
himself  that  he  had  no  affection  for  the  child  of  his 
adoption,  save  that  of  the  master  craftsman  in  his  tool. 
Of  course  he  would  regret  the  necessity,  when  it  arose, 
of  giving  the  tool  to  destruction,  but  he  would  admit  to 
himself  no  warmer  interest  in  Guy's  fate  than  that. 

Self-persuaded  on  the  point,  he  considered  whether  the 
meeting,  of  which  he  had  been  apprised,  might  not  be 
utilised  for  the  furtherance  of  his  plans.  Nor  was  it 


REFLECTIONS   OF  LYNTON  HORA        51 

long  before  he  became  persuaded  that  Fate  was  playing 
into  his  hands.  Supposing  that  the  acquaintance  devel- 
oped into  intimacy.  A  thousand  vague  possibilities 
floated,  shadow-like,  before  Hora's  eyes.  He  deter- 
mined that  the  acquaintance  should  be  continued,  but 
still  fearful,  he  determined  also  that  Guy  should  be 
plunged  more  deeply  into  the  vortex  of  crime  than  hith- 
erto, so  that,  struggle  and  strive  as  he  might,  he  should 
find  it  impossible  to  escape.  Fortunately  for  his  purpose, 
Guy  had  expressed  himself  as  hungering  for  further  ad- 
venture. Well,  Hora  was  fertile  of  plans,  and  he  saw 
very  good  reasons  why  Guy's  desires  should  be  humoured. 
His  household  saw  nothing  more  of  the  Commandatore 
that  day.  He  remained  alone  with  his  thoughts. 


CHAPTER    V 

THE  COMMANDATORE  MAKES  A  DEDUCTION 

"  WE  are  getting  near  the  end  of  our  resources,  Guy," 
remarked  Hora  quietly,  as  he  held  a  glass  of  port  up  to 
the  light,  sipped  the  wine,  nodded  his  head  approvingly, 
and  set  the  glass  down  gently. 

It  was  the  evening  of  the  second  day  after  Hora's  ex- 
hibition of  emotion  upon  hearing  the  name  of  Marven. 
He  had  not  referred  again  to  the  object  of  his  hatred, 
and  neither  Myra  nor  Guy,  who  sat  with  him  at  the  table, 
had  prompted  his  memory. 

Guy  looked  round  the  room  before  he  answered.  He 
had  been  well  trained  in  the  observance  of  caution.  But 
the  servants  had  retired,  the  door  was  closed.  The  three 
were  alone. 

"  All  London  offers  replenishment  of  our  empty  cof- 
fers," he  answered  light-heartedly.  "  Who  is  to  have  the 
honour?"  He  turned  to  Myra.  "  Shall  I  peel  a  peach 
for  you  ?  "  he  asked. 

The  woman  seemed  not  to  hear  the  question.  She  was 
looking  at  Hora,  with  an  appeal  in  her  glance. 

Hora  answered  her  glance.  "  Myra  is  tired  of  Lon- 
don," he  remarked.  "  What  do  you  say,  Guy  ?  Shall  we 
finish  the  campaign  now,  strike  our  tents  and  retire  like 
contented  bourgeoisie  to  our  vineyard  to  watch  the  grapes 
ripen?" 

Guy's  eyebrows  arched  in  surprise.  "  Retire  empty- 

52 


COMMANDATORE    MAKES   A   DEDUCTION   55 

handed  ? "  he  asked  incredulously.  "  Why,  what  has 
come  upon  you,  Commandatore  ?  " 

"  Myra  is  tired,"  he  answered  briefly. 

Guy  looked,  smilingly,  at  her.  She  flushed  slightly. 
"  Not  a  bit  of  it/'  he  answered.  "  I  am  quite  sure  she 
does  not  desire  to  exchange  the  delights  of  a  London  sea- 
son, even  for  the  dolce  far  niente  of  an  Italian  summer." 

"  I  should  not  mind,"  she  answered.  "  London  is  a 
beastly  place.  The  Commandatore  is  right.  I  am  sick 
of  the  sight  and  sound  of  people,  and  of  the  perpetual 
menace  of  our  life — I " 

Hora  checked  her  speech  with  a  gesture.  The  door 
opened  and  a  servant  entered  with  coffee,  and  while  he 
was  present  the  conversation  passed  lightly  over  topics  of 
the  day. 

"  I  don't  like  that  man,"  said  Guy,  as  the  servant  with- 
drew. "  I  caught  him  prying  about  amongst  my  belong- 
ings the  other  day  when  I  returned  to  the  flat  unexpect- 
edly." 

"  All  servants  do  that,"  murmured  Hora  indifferently. 
"  Curiosity  is  the  mental  badge  of  servitude.  The  servant 
is  never  happy  until  he  has  surprised  one  of  his  master's 
secrets.  It  would  be  just  as  well,  Guy,  if  you  were  to 
supply  him  with  a  few  facts  to  exercise  his  imagination 
upon.  Get  some  girl  to  write  you  a  few  love  letters  and 
hide  them  where  he  can  find  them.  He  will  never  be  at 
a  loss  then  to  supply  a  reason  for  any  erratic  movement 
of  yours." 

Guy  laughed.  "  Not  a  bad  suggestion,"  he  agreed. 
"  Do  you  adopt  the  same  plan  to  protect  yourself  ?  " 

Hora  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  I  carefully  built  up 
my  own  reputation  in  advance,"  he  remarked.  "  Haven't 


54  THE   MASTER   CRIMINAL 

I  told  you?  I  suppose  not,  for  you  were  both  too  young 
when  I  first  located  myself  here."  He  looked  round  the 
pleasant  dining-room  complacently.  "  I've  had  the  place 
for  ten  years  now,  and  for  one's  name  to  be  for  ten  years 
in  the  London  directory,  at  the  same  address,  is  a  certifi- 
cate of  respectability  which  is  not  easily  discredited." 

"  Still  I  wonder  that  you  did  not  seek  greater  privacy," 
remarked  Guy,  as  he  lit  a  cigarette. 

Hora  smiled.  "  A  decision  for  privacy  always  awakens 
suspicion,  and  thus  in  our  profession  privacy  de  facto 
is  perhaps  the  one  luxury  we  cannot  afford.  Neverthe- 
less a  greater  degree  of  privacy  is  possible  in  the  midst 
of  a  crowd  than  would  be  possible  anywhere  else  in  the 
wide  world.  This  is  not  such  a  paradoxical  statement  as 
it  sounds.  In  the  crowd  no  one  is  intent  on  the  doings 
of  his  neighbours.  Put  a  ring-fence  round  a  man,  and 
every  eye  would  be  fixed  upon  him.  Thus  you  see  my 
reason  for  selecting  a  residential  flat  for  my  London  resi- 
dence. The  servants  are  not  mine.  Each  of  them  has  half 
a  dozen  other  objects  of  curiosity.  When  they  have  at- 
tended to  our  requirements  they  disappear." 

"  But,  nevertheless,  they  must  be  curious  concerning 
the  contents  of  the  art  gallery  ?  " 

The  allusion  was  to  a  portion  of  the  abode  into  which 
the  servants  were  not  supposed  to  enter.  Though  situ- 
ated on  the  eighth  story,  Hora's  flat  at  Westminster  Man- 
sions was  not  the  ultimate  achievement  of  the  builder. 
Above  were  attics  to  which  a  narrow  staircase  gave  en- 
trance. The  stairs  were  shut  off  by  a  door,  and  the  door 
was  always  locked. 

"  When  I  see  any  signs  of  curiosity  I  always  take  an 
early  opportunity  of  gratifying  it,"  said  Hora.  "  Every 


COMMANDATORE    MAKES    A   DEDUCTION    55 

one  of  the  servants  who  has  ever  waited  upon  me  has  had 
the  privilege  of  inspecting  that  chamber,  and  not  one  of 
them  has  ever  been  sufficiently  interested  to  enter  it  a 
second  time,  except  at  my  especial  request.  You  see  they 
are  all  aware  why  I  took  possession  of  the  attic.  They 
think  it  is  the  fad  of  a  nervous  invalid.  Those  attics  were 
entered  from  another  staircase  when  first  I  took  the  flat, 
and  some  of  the  servants  slept  there.  I  complained  of 
the  noise,  continually.  Half  a  dozen  of  the  poor  devils 
must  have  been  dismissed  at  one  time  or  another  for 
purely  imaginary  offences  in  consequence.  Then  I  de- 
clared I  could  stay  no  longer,  and  I  gave  notice  to  leave. 
The  agent  for  the  landlord  was  apologetic,  and  asked  if 
there  was  no  way  in  which  he  would  not  be  able  to  meet 
me.  I  offered  to  rent  the  place,  saying  that  I  would  make 
it  into  a  storeroom  for  the  books  and  trifles  which  I  am 
continually  accumulating.  He  jumped  at  the  offer  I 
made,  and  I  know  he  thought  me  a  fool."  Hora  chuckled. 
"  How  surprised  he  would  be  to  learn  that  the  proceeds 
of  many  a  rich  haul  have  been  stored  there  for  months. 
But  I  have  drifted  away  from  my  original  point.  I  was 
telling  you  of  the  manner  in  which  I  built  up  my  original 
reputation  for  eccentricity,  the  safest  cloak  a  man  may 
wear.  It  was  a  simple  matter.  I  merely  answered  for 
myself  the  references  I  gave  to  my  landlord.  I  described 
myself  as  an  unfavourable  tenant  from  every  point  of 
view,  but  the  pecuniary  one.  My  habits  I  described  as 
irregular,  my  requirements  exacting  to  a  degree,  my 
manner  brusque  and  overbearing,  and  my  disposition 
faddy  and  changeable,  and  further  said  I  was  given  to 
making  continual  requests  for  structural  alterations  in 
any  dwelling  place  that  I  occupied  in  order  to  make 


56  THE   MASTER   CRIMINAL 

accommodation  for  any  new  collecting  craze  which 
seized  me." 

"  I  wonder  any  landlord  ventured  to  accept  you," 
laughed  Myra. 

"  The  London  landlord  has  a  high  opinion  of  his  capa- 
bility for  withstanding  the  demands  of  his  tenants,''  said 
Hora  drily.  "  He  is  a  man  lavish  of  promises,  but  meagre 
of  fulfilments,  and  possessed  of  a  genius  for  extracting 
the  uttermost  farthing  of  his  rent.  Moreover,  he  would 
take  Satan  himself  as  a  tenant  if  he  offered  to  pay  six 
months'  rent  in  advance.  Naturally  I  proved  acceptable, 
and  not  turning  out  to  be  the  terror  I  depicted  myself  I 
am  now  looked  upon  as  the  best  tenant  in  the  whole  build- 
ing. I  am  free  to  do  as  I  like.  My  treasure-house  ceases 
to  excite  curiosity,  and  I  believe  if  I  were  to  place  the 
crown  jewels  upon  one  of  the  tables  up  there  they  would 
be  undisturbed,  so  long  as  my  rent  was  paid  regularly, 
until  they  were  hidden  beneath  the  accumulated  dust  of 
ages." 

The  allusion  gave  Guy  an  idea. 

"  Do  you  contemplate  an  imitation  of  Colonel  Blood's 
exploit  for  the  replenishment  of  our  empty  exchequer?" 
he  said,  smiling. 

"  I  have  often  envied  Blood's  opportunities,"  answered 
Hora  thoughtfully,  "  but  at  the  present  day  there  are 
much  greater  difficulties  in  the  way  than  Blood  had  to 
contend  with.  Some  day,  perhaps,  but  just  now  I  have 
another  scheme  in  my  mind."  He  rose  from  the  table. 
""  I  have  something  to  tell  you,"  he  remarked.  "  You  will 
excuse  me  for  a  minute." 

He  left  the  room.  As  the  door  closed  on  Hora,  Myra 
turned  eagerly  to  her  companion.  She  felt  that,  despite 


COMMANDATORE    MAKES   A   DEDUCTION   57 

her  promise  to  Hora,  she  must  give  utterance  to  the 
fears  which  once  again  possessed  her  mind. 

"  Guy,"  she  said,  "  I  wish  you  would  persuade  the 
Commandatore  to  leave  London  for  a  while.  He  would 
listen  to  any  wish  of  yours." 

"Do  you  think  so?"  he  asked.  "I  don't  think  that 
any  expression  of  mine  would  turn  him  from  any  purpose 
he  has  in  view." 

"  But  can  you  not  try?"  she  persisted.  "  For  my  sake, 
Guy." 

"  Why,  whatever  is  the  matter  with  you,  Myra  ? " 
asked  the  young  man,  his  attention  captured  by  the  obvi- 
ous anxiety  in  her  voice.  "  Surely  you  are  not  becom- 
ing afraid?  " 

"  Becoming  afraid  ?  "  she  repeated  after  him  mechanic- 
ally. "  No,  I  am  not  becoming  afraid.  I  learned  what 
fear  was  long  ago,  when  first  I  ventured  to  put  my  own 
desires  in  opposition  to  the  will  of  the  Commandatore. 
I  have  always  been  afraid  since  then."  She  fell  to 
silence. 

"  There's  no  reason  to  fear  the  Commandatore,"  an- 
swered Guy  cheerfully.  "  You  are  growing  morbid, 
Myra." 

She  paid  no  heed  to  his  comment.  "  It  is  not  fear  now, 
or  at  least  not  what  is  generally  understood  by  fear. 
There  is  an  oppression  in  the  air,  the  weight  of  something 
unseen  and  unknown  presses  on  me." 

"  But  there  is  nothing  for  you  to  fear.  Whatever  were 
to  happen  you  would  be  quite  safe,"  argued  Guy. 

"  Myself?  It  is  not  myself  I  am  thinking  about,"  she 
cried  passionately.  "  Whatever  impends  does  not 
threaten  me.  It  is  you,  Guy,  I  fear  for.  Ever  since  the 


58  THE   MASTER   CRIMINAL 

night  of  Lady  Greyston's  dance  I  have  felt  it.  I  thought 
you  would  never  return  that  evening,  but  you  came  back, 
and  for  a  while  I  could  laugh  at  my  fears.  But,  now 
the  Commandatore  has  some  other  proposal  to  make, 
my  dread  has  returned.  I  shall  not  have  a  moment's 
rest." 

"  Why  this  is  sheer  hysteria,  if  not  madness,"  said 
Guy  in  great  concern. 

"  Call  it  what  you  like,"  she  replied  earnestly,  "  but 
listen  to  what  I  say — promise  me !  " 

She  heard  Hora's  lagging  footstep  in  the  passage  out- 
side, and  she  ceased  speaking  suddenly.  "  Not  a  word  of 
this  to  the  Commandatore,"  she  said  hastily,  as  the  door 
opened,  and  Hora  re-entered. 

If  the  elder  man  observed  that  his  re-entry  had  broken 
in  upon  a  confidence  from  which  he  was  excluded,  he 
gave  no  signs  of  having  done  so.  Myra  breathed  more 
freely  when  he  seated  himself  again  at  the  table,  and 
spread  out  a  newspaper  he  had  brought  with  him  on  the 
table. 

"  There  are  three  items  of  news  in  this  evening's  paper," 
he  remarked  quietly,  "  which  supply  the  data  from  which 
may  be  deduced  the  means  whereby  an  enterprising  man 
may  build  a  fortune." 

Guy  was  all  attention  on  the  instant,  and  Myra,  view- 
ing his  keen  face,  let  her  head  droop  upon  her  hand. 

"Those  items  are?"  queried  the  young  man,  as  Hora 
paused. 

"  You  will  find  the  first  in  the  Court  News,"  was  the 
reply.  "  The  Rt.  Hon.  Sir  Gadsby  Dimbleby,  who  is  the 
minister  in  attendance  upon  His  Majesty  the  King,  ar- 
rived at  Sandringham  last  night." 


COMMANDATORE    MAKES   A   DEDUCTION   59 

"  The  Minister  of  Foreign  Affairs,  is  he  not  ?  "  asked 
Guy. 

Hora  nodded,  and  turned  to  another  page  from  which 
he  read :  "  Just  before  the  close  all  markets  sagged  badly 
ortv  selling  orders  from  Berlin.  A  variety  of  rumours 
were  afloat  as  to  the  reason,  but  no  definite  information 
which  would  supply  justification  for  a  bear  raid  on  the 
market  was  forthcoming  from  any  well-informed  quar- 
ter. In  the  street,  afterwards,  prices  were  put  up  again 
generally,  though  fluctuations  were  considerable." 

"  Yes,"  said  Guy,  beginning  to  look  puzzled. 

"  The  third  item  is  a  mere  addition  to  the  Reuter's  tele- 
gram from  Australia,  giving  particulars  of  the  cricket 
match  between  the  English  and  Australian  teams.  The 
result  is  placed  in  the  space  left  for  late  news,  and  over 
it  are  the  words  "  delayed  in  transmission." 

Hora  ceased  speaking. 

"  If  the  rehabilitation  of  our  fortunes  depends  upon 
translating  that  puzzle  we  shall  end  our  days  in  the  work- 
house yet,"  said  Guy. 

"  Yet,  there  is  much  wealth  for  the  man  who  can  piece 
together  those  scraps  of  information,  and  will  act  promptly 
on  the  knowledge,"  answered  Hora. 

"How?  By  speculation  on  the  Stock  Exchange?" 
asked  Guy.  "  I  thought,  Commandatore,  that  you  es- 
chewed all  forms  of  gambling." 

"  I  do,"  said  Hora  drily.  "  But  to  buy  and  sell  on  a 
certainty  has  nothing  of  the  gambling  element  about  it.  I 
feel  inclined  to  make  either  the  bulls  or  the  bears  con- 
tribute to  our  maintenance.  But  action  must  be  prompt 
if  it  is  to  succeed.  There  is  work  for  you  to  do  to-night, 
Guy,  if  you  care  about  it." 


60  THE    MASTER   CRIMINAL 

"  Care  about  it  ?  "  The  young  man  sprang  to  his  feet, 
every  fibre  of  his  frame  quivering  for  action. 

Hora  laughed  good-naturedly.  "  There — there,  Guy, 
take  matters  a  bit  easily.  There's  plenty  of  time  before 
you  yet,  if  you  decide  to  go  on  with  the  job.  It's  more 
risky  than  the  last." 

"  The  greater  the  risk,  the  better  I  shall  be  pleased," 
exclaimed  Guy,  as  he  dropped  again  into  his  chair, 
"  though  how  you  are  going  to  evolve  anything  of  a  risky 
nature  from  those  paragraphs  you  have  just  read,  I  en- 
tirely fail  to  understand." 

"  You'll  understand  soon  enough,"  remarked  Hora 
quietly,  "  and  you  will  then  be  surprised  that  the  meaning 
of  these  three  items  of  news  should  have  conveyed  so 
little  to  you.  Let  me  reverse  the  order  and  read  into 
these  three  facts  my  own  conclusions.  What  can  be  the 
reason  for  the  delay  in  the  transmission  of  the  cable  con- 
taining the  cricket  result?  Either  the  cable  had  broken 
down,  or  it  was  monopolised  for  more  important  work. 
The  former  theory  is  untenable,  for  if  you  take  the  trouble 
to  compare  the  time  of  the  insertion  of  the  news  with 
the  time  when  it  should  have  been  inserted,  you  will  find 
a  delay  of  three  or  four  hours  only  has  to  be  accounted 
for.  Thus  I  arrive  at  the  decision  that  the  cable  was 
fully  occupied  by  someone  with  a  prior  claim  for  its  use. 
Who  could  that  be  ?  Here  again  the  choice  is  between  two 
possibilities.  Either  some  big  financier  or  body  of  finan- 
ciers or  the  Government.  Again  the  indications  point  to 
one  conclusion.  The  City  was  merely  uneasy  by  reason  of 
German  selling,  which  could  not  be  accounted  for,  and 
not  because  of  information  which  had  come  over  the 
wires.  Therefore,  the  wires  must  have  been  occupied  by 


COMMANDATORE    MAKES   A   DEDUCTION   61 

important  despatches  to  the  British  Government.  I 
think,"  said  Hora,  "  that  if  the  knowledge  of  what  has 
passed  over  the  cable  is  in  my  possession  by  to-morrow 
morning,  we  shall  be  in  a  position  to  spoil  the  Egyptians 
of  Throgmorton  Street  to  some  purpose." 

Guy  looked  at  Hora  with  admiration.  Some  idea  of 
his  companion's  purpose  dawned  upon  him — but  only 
faintly.  He  asked  eagerly  for  further  guidance. 

"  As  to  the  nature  of  the  despatch  which  has  been  re- 
ceived at  the  Foreign  Office,  I  have  no  more  idea  than 
yourself,"  he  continued,  "  though  it  probably  affects  Ger- 
many, and  it  is  hardly  worth  while  troubling  to  guess. 
I  am  only  concerned  with  times,  places,  and  people.  As 
I  calculate,  the  cable  was  not  clear  for  ordinary  business 
until  close  upon  six  o'clock.  Six  would,  therefore,  be 
very  near  the  time  when  the  end  of  the  message  was  de- 
livered at  the  Foreign  Office.  Of  course  it  would  have 
been  cabled  in  the  official  cypher.  By  the  time  the  mes- 
sage would  be  de-coded  there  is  only  one  train  by  which  a 
special  messenger  could  take  the  de-coded  despatch  to 
his  chief,  who  happens  to  be  the  minister  in  attendance 
upon  His  Majesty  at  Sandringham." 

Hora  looked  up  at  the  clock.  "  That  train  starts  from 
St.  Pancras  at  9.50.  It  proceeds  as  far  as  Lynn,  where 
the  messenger  carrying  the  despatch  will  probably  be  met 
by  a  motor-car.  It  is  just  nine  o'clock  now,  Guy,  so 
there  is  plenty  of  time  for  you  to  decide  whether  it  is 
worth  while  making  an  effort  to  obtain  the  information 
which  will  be  in  his  despatch  box." 

Guy's  eyes  sparkled.  "  It's  worth  while  trying  any 
way,  Commandatore."  He  turned  to  the  young  woman. 
"  Wish  me  luck,  Myra,"  he  said. 


CHAPTER   VI 


GUY  had  ten  minutes  to  spare  as  he  stepped  out  of  the 
cab  at  St.  Pancras  Station,  and,  handing  a  bag  to  a  por- 
ter, made  his  way  leisurely  to  the  booking  office  and  took 
a  ticket  for  Lynn.  He  would  have  been  easily  recognised 
by  any  of  his  acquaintance,  for  he  had  made  no  effort 
to  disguise  himself.  Hora  professed  no  liking  for  physi- 
cal or  material  disguises,  contending,  indeed,  that  such 
were  merely  the  clumsy  devices  of  incompetence.  "  The 
man  who  anticipates  being  seen  in  any  affair  in  which 
he  is  not  prepared  to  meet  scrutiny  is  anticipating  failure," 
he  was  accustomed  to  declare.  "  In  all  other  cases,"  he 
had  told  Guy,  "  your  own  identity  will  be  your  most  cer- 
tain protection.  A  bourgeois  reputation  for  wealth  and 
half  a  dozen  society  acquaintances  will  provoke  apologies 
from  inquisitive  persons  when  a  mere  hint  that  you 
had  dyed  your  moustache  would  mean  instant  arrest." 
Guy  was  disposed  to  agree  with  him.  He  disliked  the 
theatrical,  as  much  as  he  was  enamoured  of  the  dramatic, 
aspect  of  his  profession. 

Yet  on  this  occasion  he  had  not  been  long  on  the  plat- 
form before  he  was  betrayed  into  the  wish  that  for  once 
he  had  assumed  some  disguise.  The  porter  to  whom  he 
had  entrusted  his  bag  had  deposited  it  in  the  corner  of  a 

62 


A   KING'S    MESSENGER  63 

first-class  smoking  compartment,  and  Guy  strolled  along 
the  waiting  train,  glancing  into  each  compartment  in  turn, 
in  order  to  locate  the  messenger  who,  if  Hora's  deduc- 
tions were  correct,  was  to  travel  by  it.  He  had  made  no 
plans  as  to  the  means  he  was  to  take  to  obtain  a  knowl- 
edge of  the  despatches.  Nor  had  Hora  made  any  sugges- 
tions. 

"  I  leave  the  matter  entirely  in  your  hands,  Guy,"  he 
had  said.  "If  you  see  a  favourable  opportunity,  take  it. 
Opportunity  only  passes  by  the  unobservant.  Still,  such 
may  be  lacking,  and  if  none  presents  itself  do  not  strive 
to  make  one.  One  failure  in  our  profession  is  the  end 
of  a  career.  I  don't  want  to  see  your  career  cut  short  yet. 
It  is  a  difficult  task  you  have  undertaken,  and  I  shall  not 
be  surprised  if  no  opportunity  presents  itself.  Don't 
think  I  shall  blame  you." 

The  words  were  in  his  mind,  as  he  passed  coach  after 
coach,  and  saw  no  one  who  seemed  at  all  likely  to  be  the 
messenger  bearing  the  despatches.  He  returned  to  the 
door  of  the  compartment  where  his  bag  lay.  A  porter 
came  to  the  door,  glanced  in,  then  opened  the  door  of 
the  next  compartment,  and  pasted  a  little  label  "  reserved  '* 
on  the  window.  Guy,  standing  on  the  platform,  looked 
at  the  entrance  a  dozen  yards  distant.  He  became  con- 
scious of  a  little  thrill  of  excitement  in  the  thought  that 
Hora's  deductions  were  likely  to  be  proved  accurate.  It 
was  the  next  instant  that  he  wished  that  he  had  concealed 
his  identity.  A  passenger  made  his  appearance  and  the 
moment  their  eyes  met  Guy  recognised  him,  even  as  he 
knew  he  was  himself  recognised.  It  was  too  late  to  seek 
retirement  in  the  train.  He  stood  still  while  the  new- 
comer advanced  with  outstretched  hand. 


64  THE   MASTER   CRIMINAL 

"  Guy  Hora,  if  I'm  not  mistaken,  by  all  that's  lucky. 
Going  anywhere  on  this  train,  eh  ?  " 

Mechanically  Guy  took  the  offered  hand.  There  was 
no  need  for  him  to  attempt  to  infuse  any  surprise  into 
his  voice.  He  could  only  ejaculate  "  Captain  Marven !  " 

"  Himself,"  said  Marven,  "  and  as  much  surprised  to 
find  a  friend  here  as  you  are."  He  glanced  into  the  com- 
partment where  Guy's  bag  remained. 

"  Unless  you  want  to  sleep  undisturbed,  I  should  pro- 
pose that  we  travel  together,"  he  remarked. 

"  If  I  might  intrude,"  begun  Guy  hesitatingly. 

"  Intrude?  You  don't  know  how  delighted  I  shall  be," 
said  Marven  heartily.  He  beckoned  the  porter  who  stood 
holding  open  the  door  of  the  reserved  compartment. 
"  Put  this  gentleman's  bag  in  here,"  he  said.  "  Now, 
jump  in,"  he  continued  to  Guy. 

The  young  man  obeyed.  The  porter  closed  the  door, 
touched  his  cap,  and  turned  away.  Captain  Marven 
tossed  a  bundle  of  magazines  on  the  seat  and  settled  him- 
self in  a  corner.  "  Better  to  look  upon  than  magazines 
is  the  face  of  a  friend  on  a  five  hours'  journey,"  he  said 
laughingly. 

"  Much  better/'  replied  Guy.  His  first  surprise  had 
been  succeeded  by  a  second  much  greater.  Captain  Mar- 
ven's  coat  had  swung  back  as  he  entered  the  compart- 
ment, and  Guy  had  observed  beneath  it  a  despatch  case. 
It  flashed  upon  him  that  Captain  Marven  must  be  the 
carrier  of  the  despatches.  There  seemed  to  be  some- 
thing uncanny  in  Hora's  prescience.  Fate  had  given  him 
the  opportunity  which  the  Commandatore  had  declared 
awaited  the  observant,  and  it  remained  for  Guy  to  take 
advantage  of  it.  But  there  was  a  bitter  thought  com- 


A   KING'S    MESSENGER  65 

mingled  with  the  realisation  of  the  fact  that  the  oppor- 
tunity he  desired  had  been  given  to  him.  This  man  had 
seemed  so  friendly  disposed  towards  him  from  the  mo- 
ment they  first  met.  There  seemed  to  Guy  to  be  some- 
thing particularly  mean  in  an  act  of  treachery  towards 
him.  But  he  had  no  opportunity  to  brood  upon  the 
thought,  even  had  he  desired  to  do  so,  and  he  did  not  de- 
sire to  contemplate  it.  Besides,  not  to  take  full  advantage 
of  the  opportunity  would  be  treachery  to  the  Commanda- 
tore,  who  was  depending  upon  his  success.  Guy  put 
aside  his  new-born  scruples,  and  concentrated  his  atten- 
tion on  the  business  in  hand. 

He  perceived  that  he  would  have  to  make  use  of  all 
his  faculties  if  he  were  to  succeed  in  his  object.  The 
man  opposite  him  would  not  be  easily  cozened.  But  the 
effort  must  be  made.  He  began  to  turn  over  in  his  brain 
a  variety  of  plans,  while  he  chatted  with  his  companion. 

The  whistle  sounded,  doors  banged,  the  train  moved 
out  into  the  night.  There  was  no  escape  now.  But 
how  was  he  to  gain  possession  of  the  case  in  Captain 
Marven's  possession  without  exciting  suspicion?  As 
a  stranger,  there  would  have  been  greater  chance  of  ef- 
fecting the  coup  by  some  sudden  stratagem.  But,  posi- 
tioned as  he  now  found  himself,  he  was  practically  help- 
less unless  Marven  should  sleep.  Guy  looked  up  at  the 
Captain's  face.  It  was  an  alert  face,  not  the  face  of  a 
man  who  sleeps  while  on  duty.  It  would  be  difficult  to 
evade  the  glance  of  those  cool,  grey  eyes,  trusting  as  they 
seemed.  The  firm  mouth  and  the  set  of  the  jaw  told  of 
a  character  that  would  not  be  amenable  to  sudden  panic. 
Captain  Marven  was  obviously  a  soldier.  How  could  it 
be  that  he  was  carrying  despatches  for  the  Foreign  Of- 


66  THE   MASTER   CRIMINAL 

fice?  What  if  he  were  mistaken?  The  thought  startled 
the  young  man  from  his  reverie  to  hear  his  query  an- 
swered. 

Captain  Marven  was  speaking  to  him,  and  he  had 
missed  the  opening  remark.  "  It's  unusual  for  me  to  find 
one  of  our  own  set  as  companion  on  my  frequent  jour- 
neyings,"  he  said,  "though,  of  course,  one  does  run  up 
against  friends,  occasionally." 

"  You  travel  a  lot  then  ?  "  asked  Guy  mechanically. 

"  It  is  the  business  of  a  King's  messenger,"  answered 
Marven  drily. 

"  I  didn't  know,"  remarked  Guy  in  genuine  surprise, 
while  the  thought  flashed  into  his  mind  that  the  despatches 
must  be  important  indeed,  since  they  had  not  been  en- 
trusted to  the  care  of  one  of  the  ordinary  officials  of  the 
Foreign  Office.  "  I  had  no  idea  that  you  belonged  to 
that  select  body." 

"  Nearly  twenty  years  in  the  service,  my  boy,"  an- 
swered Marven.  "  If  I  were  a  motor-car  my  mileage 
would  be  considered  something  extraordinary,  but  being 
only  a  man " 

He  ended  the  comment  with  a  laugh. 

Guy  echoed  it. 

"  I  understood  that  you  were "  He  was  about  to 

add,  "  a  man  about  town  like  myself,"  but  checked  him- 
self. Marven  laughed  and  finished  the  sentence.  "  A 
good-for-nothing  idler  like  yourself,  eh,  Hora?  No,"  he 
continued.  "  I  was  once.  Indeed,  to  my  eternal  regret, 
I  left  the  army  when  I  ought  to  have  been  thinking  seri- 
ously of  it  as  a  profession.  But  I  had  everything  I 
asked  of  life  then,  and  I  rather  chafed  at  my  duties. 
Later  " — a  shadow  passed  over  his  face — "  I  felt  a  need 


A   KING'S    MESSENGER  67 

to  do  something  which  would  keep  me  away  from 
thoughts  which — I  wanted  some  work  with  movement 
in  it,  and,  having  plenty  of  influential  friends,  I  found 
myself  a  superior  sort  of  postman." 

Almost  the  elder  man  had  been  betrayed  into  a  confi- 
dence. Guy,  realising  this,  again  felt  a  thrill  of  distaste 
for  the  task  he  had  in  hand.  Then  he  wondered  if  the 
thoughts  from  which  the  King's  messenger  desired  to  es- 
cape were  in  any  way  connected  with  the  events  which 
were  responsible  for  the  Commandatore's  hatred.  After 
all,  this  man  was  the  enemy  of  his,  Guy  Hora's  father. 
The  enemy  through  whose  actions  Lynton  Hora  had 
found  himself  in  conflict  with  the  world.  Guy  hardened 
his  heart.  Most  possibly  the  genial  mask  of  friendship 
which  Captain  Marven  wore  was  the  ordinary  disguise 
of  hypocrisy.  Guile  should  be  met  with  guile. 

It  was  with  a  manner  as  frank  and  a  smile  as  confiding 
as  his  own  that  Marven  found  his  questions  responded  to. 

Indeed,  he  was  genuinely  interested  in  the  young  man. 
He  had  already  discovered  at  their  first  meeting  that  he 
was  of  an  intelligence  beyond  the  ordinary.  He  had  ob- 
served that  Guy  had  been  strongly  attracted  by  the  niece 
whom  his  wife  was  chaperoning  for  her  first  London  sea- 
son, and  he  thought  that  it  would  be  well  if  he  could 
know  more  of  her  admirer.  But,  beyond  all  that,  Captain 
Marven  had  observed  what  Guy's  younger  eyes  had 
missed.  He  saw  in  the  younger  man  something  which 
reminded  him  of  himself  in  his  own  youthful  days.  A 
likeness  of  feature,  of  carriage,  of  manner.  The  belief 
that  one  day  the  son,  his  only  child,  would  be  restored  to 
him  had  been  an  abiding  one.  It  had  been  partly  respon- 
sible for  his  adoption  of  his  present  profession.  Some- 


68  THE    MASTER   CRIMINAL 

where  his  Son  was  growing  into  manhood.  Any  day  he 
might  meet  him. 

He  made  the  most  of  his  wide  knowledge  of  the  world 
to  secure  the  young  man's  confidence,  and  flattered  him- 
self that  he  had  succeeded.  He  was  quite  unaware  that 
Guy,  though  wondering  at  his  curiosity,  was  responding 
to  his  advances  in  furtherance  of  his  own  objects.  Guy 
talked  freely  of  his  boyhood.  He  spoke  with  filial  affec- 
tion of  his  father,  and  of  the  mother  he  could  just  remem- 
ber, and,  as  he  revealed  the  particulars  of  his  parentage, 
Captain  Marven's  half-formed  hopes  withered,  and  he 
told  himself  that  his  expectancy  had  given  to  the  young 
man  a  family  likeness  which  had  no  existence  outside  his 
own  imagination.  So  the  train  rushed  on  through  the 
night,  bearing  father  and  son,  sitting  face  to  face,  yet 
unrevealed,  and  while  the  son  plotted  to  rob  his  father 
of  the  despatches  which  honour  bade  him  guard  with  his 
life,  the  father  looked  at  him  again  and  again,  saddened 
with  the  thought  of  another  hope  shattered. 

The  train  sped  on,  stopping  now  and  again  to  pick  up 
the  mails.  Conversation  languished.  Guy  had  decided  on 
his  course  of  action.  He  determined  to  try  a  plan  which 
if  unsuccessful,  would  leave  him  time  for  a  second  at- 
tempt, a  plan,  the  feasibility  of  which,  he  had  frequently 
discussed  with  his  mentor,  Lynton  Hora. 

He  surprised  Captain  Marven  in  a  yawn.  "  Getting 
sleepy  ?  "  he  asked. 

Marven  smiled.  "  I  don't  sleep  to-night  until  my  jour- 
ney is  ended." 

"  What  martyrdom  to  duty,"  scoffed  Guy.  "  I  am  al- 
most inclined  to  save  you  from  yourself." 

Marven  looked  at  him  questioningly. 


A   KING'S    MESSENGER  69 

"  By  demonstrating  the  power  of  hypnotism,"  explained 
Guy  briefly. 

"  Oh !  "  Captain  Marven  laughed.  "  I  am  afraid  you 
would  not  find  me  an  amenable  subject,"  he  said. 

"  I  don't  know,"  replied  Guy.  "  It  is  astonishingly  easy 
to  induce  hypnotic  sleep." 

Marven  smiled  doubtingly.  He  held  the  belief  that 
hypnotism  was  a  mere  vulgar  device  of  charlatans  to 
impose  upon  the  gullible.  He  expounded  his  views  to 
Guy  at  length.  The  young  man,  stimulating  opposition, 
by  assertion  and  counter-assertion,  at  last  declared  that 
if  Captain  Marven  would  only  lend  himself  to  the  experi- 
ment he  would  speedily  prove  to  his  satisfaction  that  there 
was  substantial  grounds  for  belief  in  the  realty  of  hyp- 
notic force. 

Captain  Marven,  serenely  satisfied  of  his  invulnera- 
bility and  amused  at  Guy's  obstina'cy,  professed  his  will- 
ingness to  submit  to  any  experiment  Guy  might  sug- 
gest. Guy  appeared  to  hesitate  at  the  prompt  accept- 
ance. He  declared  that  he  was  unprovided  with  the 
necessary  materials.  Marven  chaffed  him,  seeing  in  his 
reluctance  doubt  in  his  own  beliefs.  Guy  remembered, 
that  he  had  in  his  handbag  a  small  electric  torch  with  a 
reflector  attached  which  might  serve  the  purpose  of  the 
mesmeric  disc  commonly  used.  He  produced  it. 

Marven,  lounging  comfortably  in  his  corner,  was  bid- 
den to  divest  his  mind  of  all  thought  and  gaze  intently 
upon  the  glowing  point  of  light.  With  a  keen  sense  of 
the  absurdity  of  the  proceeding,  the  King's  messenger 
conscientiously  endeavoured  to  obey  the  instructions  given 
him.  Silence  reigned  in  the  compartment,  for  two,  three, 
four  minutes.  Then  Guy  rose  from  his  corner,  and 


70  THE   MASTER   CRIMINAL 

stood  over  his  companion,  every  nerve  quivering  with 
the  intensity  of  his  purpose.  He  laid  his  hand  lightly  on 
Marven's  head. 

"  You  are  beginning  to  feel  sleepy,"  he  said. 

Marven  did  not  contradict  him.  Already  his  brain  had 
wandered  far  afield  from  the  thoughts  which  had  em- 
ployed it  when  he  had  first  fixed  his  gaze  on  the  brilliant 
point  of  light.  He  had  forgotten  that  he  was  the  subject 
of  an  experiment.  He  was  dreaming  again,  dreaming 
that  his  son  was  found,  and  that  they  were  going  home 
together.  It  was  such  a  pleasant  dream  that  he  would 
not  raise  his  eyes  lest  it  should  be  shattered,  as  such 
dreams  had  always  been  shattered  before.  Perhaps  he 
was  feeling  sleepy.  Well,  what  of  it?  Surely  there  was 
no  reason  why  he  should  not  sleep? 

"  You  are  feeling  very  sleepy,"  said  Guy.  He  was 
watching  Marven's  eyes  closely,  and  observed  that  their 
lids  drooped  heavily. 

"  You  will  not  keep  awake  much  longer,"  he  said. 

The  point  of  light  seemed  suddenly  enlarged.  It  filled 
Marven's  field  of  vision.  No,  he  would  not  be  able  to 
keep  awake  much  longer. 

"  Yes,  I  am  very  sleepy,"  he  replied.  The  voice  was 
mechanical. 

Guy's  heart  bounded  triumphantly.  His  experiment 
was  succeeding  beyond  his  wildest  anticipations.  At  the 
most  he  had  hoped  to  be  able  to  gain  the  opportunity  to 
instil  a  suggestion  into  a  half-drugged  consciousness, 
which  would  facilitate  his  obtaining  possession  of  the 
despatches,  but  now  it  seemed  that  he  was  on  the  point 
of  entirely  subjugating  his  companion's  consciousness. 

"  You  must  close  your  eyes,"  he  said. 


A   KING'S    MESSENGER  71 

Marven  obeyed. 

"  Stand  up,"  commanded  Guy. 

Marven  raised  himself  to  his  feet,  but  his  eyes  re- 
mained closed. 

"  You  cannot  lift  your  right  arm,"  said  Guy. 

Some  remnant  of  will  yet  remained.  The  hypnotised 
man  strove  to  raise  his  arm.  But  the  effort  was  a  failure, 
the  arm  half-lifted  from  the  elbow  dropped  again. 

"  Sit  down  and  sleep  comfortably  until  I  awaken  you," 
commanded  Guy. 

Marven  obeyed.  He  lay  back  in  his  corner.  His  eyes 
were  closed,  his  breathing  calm  and  even.  To  all  appear- 
ances he  was  asleep.  Guy  seated  himself  and  gazed  at 
the  man  opposite.  Was  his  experiment  indeed  success- 
ful, or  was  Marven  merely  shamming  with  a  view  of  ridi- 
culing his  efforts?  He  inclined  to  the  former  belief,  yet 
the  ease  with  which  Marven  had  succumbed  was  in  it- 
self suspicious.  It  would  be  easy  to  apply  a  test. 

Guy  rose,  and,  drawing  aside  the  overcoat  which  Mar- 
ven wore,  deliberately  unbuckled  the  strap  upon  which 
the  despatch  case  was  slung.  The  Captain  never  stirred. 
He  was  really  asleep.  Guy  looked  at  his  watch.  In  an- 
other ten  minutes  the  train  would  be  stopping  at  Cam- 
bridge. Yes,  he  had  just  time  to  carry  out  the  initial 
stage  of  his  plan.  From  his  handbag  he  produced  a 
mass  of  stiff  modelling  clay,  and  with  it  he  took  two  im- 
pressions of  the  seals  which  secured  the  fastenings  of  the 
case.  Then  he  placed  the  case  and  the  impressions  in  his 
own  bag.  Already  he  was  beginning  to  enjoy  the  con- 
sciousness of  success. 

The  train  ran  into  Cambridge  railway  station.  Guy 
leaned  over  to  his  sleeping  companion. 


72  THE   MASTER   CRIMINAL 

"  You  must  have  a  cup  of  coffee  if  you  are  to  keep 
awake,"  he  said. 

The  Captain's  eyes  opened,  but  they  were  dull,  un- 
seeing. 

The  train  stopped.  Guy  alighted  and  Marven  followed 
him  to  the  refreshment  room.  Guy  ordered  coffee.  Mar- 
ven drank  his  mechanically. 

"  We  must  return,"  said  Guy.  "  The  coffee  will  not 
keep  you  awake  long." 

The  guard  was  standing  at  the  door  when  they  re-en- 
tered their  compartment,  and  he  closed  it  deferentially. 
Evidently  he  was  aware  of  Captain  Marven's  identity. 
Guy  was  glad  that  he  had  taken  the  risk  of  awakening 
Marven;  otherwise  the  railway  official's  acquaintance 
might  have  proved  troublesome. 

The  train  rolled  out  again  into  the  night. 

"  You  will  sleep  again,"  said  Guy  soothingly. 

The  Captain  composed  himself  in  his  corner,  and  Guy 
forgot  him.  Seconds  only  passed  before  the  despatch 
case  was  open  before  him,  seals  broken,  lock  picked,  and 
the  papers  it  contained  lying  in  his  hand.  He  groaned  as 
he  saw  the  voluminous  character  of  the  document.  Then 
his  eyes  brightened  as  he  caught  sight  of  the  precis  of 
the  contents  attached.  A  fountain  pen  and  paper  were  at 
his  hand,  and  a  copy  of  the  precis  was  soon  in  his  pos- 
session. Then  watch  in  hand  he  read  the  more  lengthy 
despatch.  Ten  minutes  had  passed  since  leaving  Cam- 
bridge and  another  ten  would  bring  the  train  to  Ely.  He 
returned  the  papers  to  the  case.  With  deftness,  born  of 
much  practice,  the  lock  was  turned  again.  With  a  spirit 
lamp  the  wax  of  the  seals  was  melted  and  the  seal  reim- 
pressed  by  aid  of  the  carefully  oiled  clay  impression  al- 


A   KING'S   MESSENGER  73 

ready  hardened  sufficiently  for  the  purpose.  With  a  sigh 
of  satisfaction  Guy  laid  the  case  on  the  seat.  But  the 
sigh  died  away.  Looking  up  he  was  astounded  to  find 
that  Captain  Marven  had  awakened,  and  was  standing 
erect  and  with  outstretched  hand  was  pointing  to  the 
case. 

There  came  upon  Guy  the  impulse  for  instant  flight. 
But  whither?  The  impulse  did  not  remain  long  in  pos- 
session of  him.  He  saw  that  Marven  was  striving  to 
speak  and  could  not  find  words,  and  at  the  same  moment 
he  realised  that  his  victim  was  only  partially  awakened 
from  the  hypnotic  state.  Collecting  all  his  faculties  for  a 
supreme  effort  Guy  faced  him. 

"  You  cannot  stand  up,"  he  said.  "  You  cannot  awaken 
for  two  minutes  yet." 

The  Captain  hesitated.  He  seemed  to  be  fighting 
against  an  overpowering  desire.  But  insistently  Guy  re- 
peated his  commands,  and  with  a  despairing  gesture, 
Marven  sank  back  once  again  into  his  corner. 

Guy  waited  no  longer.  The  moment  Marven  was 
quiescent,  he  rebuckled  the  case  to  the  strap,  and  dis- 
posed it  beneath  the  Captain's  coat.  Then  he  clapped  his 
hands  smartly  before  the  sleeping  man's  face  and  cried 
loudly,  "  Wake  up,  Captain  Marven,  wake  up." 

Marven  came  back  gradually  from  his  trance.  He 
rubbed  his  eyes,  he  looked  wonderingly  about  him. 

"  What  have  you  to  say  about  hypnotism  now  ?  "  asked 
Guy. 

Captain  Marven  looked  puzzled. 

"  I — I  don't  quite  understand.  Do  you  mean  to  say 
that  I  have  slept?" 

The  train  ran  into  Ely  Station. 


74  THE   MASTER   CRIMINAL 

"  Hullo !  Where  are  we  ?  At  Cambridge  already  ?  " 
asked  Marven. 

Guy  laughed.    "  This  is  Ely,"  he  answered. 

"  Ely  ?  "  repeated  the  Captain  incredulously. 

"  Yes,  Ely/'  answered  Guy.  "  Don't  you  remember 
stopping  at  Cambridge  and  going  with  me  to  the  refresh- 
ment room  for  a  cup  of  coffee  to  keep  you  awake  ?  " 

"  Stopping  at  Cambridge,"  repeated  Marven  more  in- 
credulously than  before. 

"  It  is  a  fact,"  answered  Guy,  and  he  added,  "  I  hope 
you  will  forgive  me  having  given  you  so  practical  an 
exposition  of  the  fact  that  there  is  something  in  hypnotism 
after  all." 

Captain  Marven  did  not  answer  immediately.  He 
seemed  to  be  struggling  for  recollection.  "  I  have  no  re- 
membrance of  that,  but "  By  an  instinctive  gesture 

his  hand  sought  the  case  beneath  his  coat.  His  face  light- 
ened as  he  felt  it  there.  "  I've  been  dreaming,  neverthe- 
less," he  said.  "  I  seem  to  remember  that  something  in 
my  charge  was  in  your  possession,  and  that  although  I 
struggled  to  regain  possession  of  it  I  could  not  do  so." 

"  I  suppose  it  was  the  last  impulse  of  your  will  to  com- 
bat the  effort  I  was  making  to  gain  control  of  it,"  re- 
marked Guy,  secretly  congratulating  himself  that  he 
had  been  in  time  to  prevent  Marven's  complete  awaken- 
ing before  the  case  had  been  returned  to  him. 

"  No  doubt  that  is  the  explanation,"  replied  Marven, 
rising  and  throwing  open  the  carriage  door.  He  stepped 
on  to  the  platform. 

"  Are  you  not  going  to  stretch  your  legs,  Hora  ? "  he 
asked.  "  We  have  twenty  minutes  here." 

Guy  joined  him,  and  they  paced  the  platform  together. 


A   KING'S    MESSENGER  75 

They  chatted  on  indifferent  topics.  Then  Captain  Mar- 
ven  suddenly  sprang  a  personal  question. 

"  By  the  way,  Hora,"  he  said,  "  if  it's  not  impertinent 
to  ask,  what  made  you  choose  this  infernally  slow  train 
to  come  to  this  part  of  the  world  ?  " 

Guy  had  long  had  a  lie  prepared. 

"  Laziness,"  he  answered  lightly.  "  I  missed  the  earlier 
one  which  would  have  taken  me  on  to  Hunstanton,  where 
I  have  an  appointment  to-morrow  morning.  I  found  that 
I  should  be  able  to  get  on  from  Lynn  in  time  to  keep  it, 
and  so  here  I  am.  I'm  glad  I  missed  the  fast  train,  as  it 
has  happened.  I  hate  travelling  alone." 

Captain  Marven  made  no  reply.  Guy  could  see  that 
he  was  not  satisfied,  but  he  gave  no  hint  that  he  had  ob- 
served anything,  and,  when  the  journey  was  resumed, 
he  kept  up  an  easy  flow  of  talk  until  Lynn  was  reached. 

Then  he  bade  Captain  Marven  good-bye,  and,  if  the 
King's  Messenger  had  any  suspicion  regarding  the  com- 
panion of  his  journey,  there  was  no  hint  of  it  conveyed 
in  his  parting  greeting. 


CHAPTER   VII 

MERIEL     MAKES    AN     IMPRESSION 

CAPTAIN  MARVEN  was*  certainly  not  at  ease  in  his  own 
mind  in  regard  to  the  experience  on  his  journey.  He 
seemed  to  remember  awaking,  and  seeing  in  Guy's  pos- 
session the  despatch  box  that  he  carried.  Yet  in  view  of 
the  fact  that  it  was  still  buckled  to  the  strap,  the  suspicion 
seemed  absurd.  As  soon  as  he  was  alone  he  carefully 
examined  the  despatch  case.  The  seals  were  to  all  ap- 
pearances intact.  He  missed  none  of  his  personal  be- 
longings, and  was  ashamed  of  the  suspicion  which 
prompted  his  hurried  search  through  his  pockets.  Really 
he  had  no  reason  to  suspect  Guy  Hora  of  any  ulterior 
object  in  hypnotising  him.  He  recalled  all  the  circum- 
stances. At  his  own  invitation  Guy  had  travelled  with 
him,  he  himself  had  pressed  his  companion  to  make  the 
experiment.  He  had  lost  consciousness  while  Guy  was  sit- 
ting opposite  him,  and  when  he  had  regained  it,  Guy  was 
still  opposite  him,  and  certainly  did  not  exhibit  the  slight- 
est trace  of  trepidation.  But  what  had  happened  in  the 
forty  minutes  interval  which  had  elapsed  between  the 
losing  and  regaining  of  consciousness.  Guy  had  told  him 
that  they  had  alighted  at  Cambridge  and  had  drunk  a  cup 
of  coffee  at  the  refreshment  room.  But  was  that  all? 
He  could  not  banish  the  thought  of  the  dream  which  had 
come  to  him  during  that  hypnotic  slumber,  the  vision  of 

76 


MERIEL   MAKES   AN    IMPRESSION        77 

Guy  Hora  bending  over  the  despatch  case  doing  some- 
thing to  the  seals,  and  of  himself  standing  powerless  to 
interfere  with  him.  Was  it  only  a  dream?  Yet  it  were 
foolish  to  suppose  otherwise.  What  could  the  despatches 
he  carried  contain  of  interest  to  the  wealthy  young  man 
about  town,  who  seemed  to  him  so  like  what  his  own  son 
might  have  been?  It  was  a  puzzle  which  he  could  not 
elucidate,  though  it  engaged  his  attention  during  his  long 
motor  drive  to  the  royal  residence;  it  was  present  in  his 
thoughts  when  he  placed  the  case  in  the  hands  of  the 
Secretary  of  State,  who,  warned  by  telegraph  of  his 
coming,  was  waiting  up  for  him,  and  he  could  not  escape 
it  even  when  he  himself  sought  repose.  It  was  the  first 
thought  in  his  mind  when  he  awoke  the  next  morning. 

If  he  had  been  gifted  with  clairvoyant  powers,  he  would 
not  have  needed  to  flog  his  brains  for  a  solution.  Could 
he  have  seen  Lynton  Hora  gloating  over  the  transcription 
of  the  cypher  telegram  which  had  reached  him  that  morn- 
ing from  Guy,  Captain  Marven  would  have  had  an  inkling 
of  the  truth.  Could  he  later  have  seen  Lynton  Hora  send- 
ing off  wires  to  brokers  at  Paris,  Berlin,  and  New  York, 
could  he  have  heard  Lynton  Hora  instructing  his  London 
stockbroker  over  the  telephone,  he  would  have  been  still 
nearer  a  solution.  Finally,  could  he  have  heard  the  For- 
eign Secretary's  remarks  later  in  the  day,  when  a  detailed 
account  of  an  unfortunate  incident  in  the  South  Pacific, 
in  which  a  German  gunboat  and  a  British  cruiser  were 
concerned,  appeared  in  an  evening  paper,  he  would  have 
known  that  in  some  mysterious  manner  the  information 
contained  in  the  despatches  he  had  carried  had  become 
known  to  the  world. 

Yet,  though  he  knew  not,  nor  could  have  known,  any 


78  THE   MASTER   CRIMINAL 

of  these  things,  yet  the  vague  uneasiness  that  there  had 
been  intention  in  Guy's  presence  on  the  train  was  not 
easily  dispelled.  It  begot  in  him  a  still  greater  desire  to 
learn  something  more  of  the  young  man  whose  face 
haunted  his  thoughts,  and  when  he  returned  to  town  the 
next  morning,  carrying  with  him  the  answers  to  the 
stolen  despatches,  it  was  with  the  fixed  intention  of  culti- 
vating Guy's  acquaintance,  if  the  opportunity  offered. 

The  chance  he  desired  was  not  long  presenting  itself. 
A  week  had  not  elapsed  before  they  met  again.  The 
meeting  was  a  purely  casual  one.  They  recognised  each 
other  at  the  opera.  Guy  occupied  a  stall  and  the  Captain 
was  with  his  wife  and  niece  in  a  box.  At  the  end  of  the 
first  act  Guy  left  his  seat.  The  Captain  met  him  in  the 
foyer. 

"  Been  trying  any  more  experiments  in  hypnotism  ?  " 
was  Marven's  greeting. 

Guy  shook  his  head  and  laughed.  "  I  haven't  been 
upon  any  railway  journeys  with  unbelievers,"  he  replied 
jestingly.  He  met  the  Captain's  glance  fearlessly,  and 
again  Marven  felt  ashamed  of  his  suspicions. 

"  I  was  just  coming  to  pay  my  respects  to  Mrs.  Mar- 
ven and  Miss  Challys."  continued  Guy. 

The  Captain  turned  to  accompany  him.  "  You  need 
not  tell  the  ladies  how  easily  you  bowled  me  out,"  he 
remarked.  "  I  have  been  so  blatantly  cynical  on  the  sub- 
ject always  that  I  should  never  hear  the  last  of  it." 

"  Why,  certainly  not,"  answered  Guy,  smiling.  The 
Captain's  attitude  dispelled  the  last  chance  of  his  being 
connected  in  any  way  with  the  acquisition  of  the  informa- 
tion which,  when  it  had  been  made  public,  had  created 
the  most  intense  excitement.  Clearly  the  Captain  wished 


MERIEL   MAKES   AN   IMPRESSION        79 

no  one  to  know  that  he  had  allowed  himself  to  be  placed 
in  an  hypnotic  trance  while  on  duty,  and  Guy,  for  his 
own  protection,  was  more  than  ready  to  fall  in  with  the 
suggestion  to  keep  silence  concerning  the  episode. 

"  After  all,  it  is  a  purely  personal  matter  of  absolutely 
no  concern  to  anyone  but  our  two  selves,"  he  added,  as 
they  reached  the  box. 

Conveying  his  thanks  with  a  nod,  Marven  opened  the 
door,  and,  as  Guy  entered,  all  thought  of  the  Captain 
passed  from  his  mind.  Only  once  previously  had  he  met 
Meriel  Challys,  but  the  impression  which  she  had  pro- 
duced upon  him  was  one  that  would  not  easily  be 
eradicated.  He  had  first  seen  her  floating  towards  him 
on  some  booby's  arm  at  Lady  Greyston's  dance.  Who 
the  booby  was  and  what  the  booby  looked  like  Guy  had 
not  the  faintest  idea.  He  had  no  time  to  spare  a  glance 
for  anyone  else,  once  his  eyes  had  rested  on  her  face. 
But  the  man  on  whose  arm  she  leaned  so  lightly  must 
of  necessity  be  a  booby.  Any  mere  man  could  be  noth- 
ing but  a  booby  in  comparison  with  any  personality  so 
exquisitely  ethereal  as  that  given  by  nature  to  Meriel 
Challys.  Guy  had  determined  to  take  the  place  of  that 
booby  himself.  He  had  enquired  amongst  his  friends 
until  he  had  obtained  the  introduction  he  desired.  He 
had  received  one  waltz  and  he  had  sat  out  one  square 
dance  in  the  plumbago  bower  at  the  end  of  the  long 
gallery.  He  would  never  forget  the  fair  picture  she 
made,  draped  in  maiden  garb  of  white,  her  dazzling 
skin  and  hair  framed  in  the  tender  blues  of  the  droop- 
ing blossoms.  It  had  been  an  effort  for  him  to  speak 
to  so  distractingly  beautiful  a  subject,  and  it  had  been 
only  the  fear  lest  she  should  think  him  moonstruck 


8o 

which  had  forced  him  to  unlock  his  lips.  No  wonder  that 
the  despoiling  of  Mr.  Flurscheim's  treasure-house  had 
been  postponed.  Indeed,  had  the  treasures  been  spread 
before  him  at  that  moment,  Guy  would  have  passed  them 
by  unnoticed. 

That  first  impression  of  instinctive  reverence  had  not 
endured.  A  fervid  disciple  of  Hora's  cynical  philosophy 
could  not  remain  for  long  in  a  state  of  ecstatic  adora- 
tion of  one  of  the  sex  provided  "  for  the  relaxation  of  the 
warrior." 

But  now,  entering  again  into  her  presence,  his  first 
impression  was  revived  with  redoubled  intensity.  Again 
he  saw  her  coming  towards  him.  He  remembeied  the 
Tennysonian  line  which  flashed  into  his  memory  at  first 
sight  of  her: 

"  Robed  in  white  samite,  mystic,  wonderful." 

No,  that  did  not  do  justice  to  Meriel  Challys,  and  yet 
it  might,  perchance,  describe  her  in  some  moods,  he 
thought;  and  though  there  was  nothing  mystic  in  her 
mood  when  Guy  had  been  introduced,  yet  the  swift 
impression  was  mayhap  nearer  the  truth  than  the  later 
one. 

Mrs.  Marven  greeted  him  warmly.  They  chatted  a 
little  while,  then,  as  Guy  turned  to  the  girl,  she  became  a 
silent  observer.  The  family  likeness  which  her  husband 
had  observed  in  Guy  was  equally  apparent  to  herself,  but 
she  had  not  given  words  to  the  vague  thoughts  which 
had  risen  up  in  her  mind  when  she  had  first  seen  him  at 
Lady  Greyston's  dance.  Such  thoughts  were  best  crushed 
down  at  once — they  only  invited  disillusionment.  Not 


MERIEL   MAKES   AN   IMPRESSION        81 

for  worlds  would  she  have  suggested  to  her  husband  that 
the  young  man  had  awakened  in  her  the  crushed  down 
maternal  instinct.  The  mere  hint  would  have  made  him 
uneasy.  She  even  dreaded  lest  he  should  have  recog- 
nised for  himself  certain  physical  resemblances  which 
certainly  existed  between  her  husband  and  Guy.  She  had 
no  idea  that  he  had  recognised  them,  and  was  as  loth  as 
her  husband  himself  to  give  words  to  her  imaginings,  for 
precisely  the  same  reasons  which  imposed  silence  upon 
him.  Each  in  point  of  fact  had  felt  the  promptings  of 
the  parental  instinct,  and  each  in  tenderness  for  the  part- 
ner of  his  and  of  her  sorrows  and  joys  forebore  to 
awaken  by  a  word  the  memory  of  the  great  sorrow  which 
had  early  cast  its  cloud  over  their  married  life. 

Lynton  Hora  had  always  been  hopelessly  wrong  when 
he  had  imagined  that  but  for  the  rivalry  of  Marven  he 
would  have  won  the  affection  of  Beatrice  Challys.  So  far 
as  he  was  concerned  she  had  always  been  heart-whole. 
But  from  the  day  she  had  met  Dick  Marven  there  had 
only  been  one  mate  for  her  in  the  whole  wide  world. 
The  affection  had  been  mutually  bestowed.  Marven  lived 
for  his  wife,  even  as  she  lived  for  him.  In  each  of  their 
thoughts  the  one  object  for  consideration  was  their  alter 
ego.  Marven  would  have  sacrificed  anything  to  save 
his  wife  a  momentary  pang,  physical  or  mental.  She 
would  have  inflicted  any  torture  upon  herself  that  he 
might  be  spared  even  momentary  uneasiness.  But  this 
kindly  consideration  for  each  other's  feelings  did  not 
always  prove  unexceptionable  in  practice.  Impalpable, 
diaphonous,  there  was  a  barrier  of  reserve  ever  between 
them  from  the  day  their  first  born  and  only  child  had  been 
mysteriously  spirited  away.  In  so  far  Hora's  scheme 


82  THE   MASTER   CRIMINAL 

for  revenge  had  been  successful  in  action.  It  had  shad- 
owed the  lives  of  both  the  parties  upon  whom  his  blow 
had  fallen,  and,  though  in  tender  consideration  for  each 
other,  his  action  had  brought  them  closer  together,  yet 
it  had  also  operated  in  placing  between  them  the  barrier 
of  a  subject  they  dared  not  discuss. 

The  maternal  instinct,  deprived  of  its  natural  outlet, 
of  necessity  had  found  another  vent.  Robbed  of  her 
son,  Mrs.  Marven  had  taken  to  her  heart  a  brother's 
child,  who  had  been  orphaned  early  in  life.  The  girl 
had  repaid  the  devotion  lavished  upon  her,  and,  if  Mrs. 
Marven  could  never  quite  banish  the  regret  for  her  lost 
son,  she  would  always  have  heartily  admitted  that  Meriel 
Challys  had  brought  sunshine  again  into  her  life.  Meriel 
was  all  that  a  daughter  could  be,  and  a  very  tender  sym- 
pathy existed  between  her  and  her  aunt. 

Naturally  the  latter  could  not  have  failed  to  observe 
the  admiration  which  Guy  Hora  exhibited  toward  Meriel. 
It  was  patent  in  his  every  glance,  and  he  made  no  effort 
to  conceal  it.  He  approached  Meriel  with  the  proud 
assurance  of  the  man  who  feels  that  he  has  the  right  to 
lay  the  tribute  of  his  admiration  at  the  feet  of  the  woman 
whom  he  admires,  and  is  not  ashamed  of  letting  the 
whole  world  perceive  upon  whom  his  choice  had  fallen. 

Mrs.  Marven  liked  the  attitude,  which  was  so  differ- 
ent to  that  of  many  of  the  admirers  whom  Meriel  had 
already,  in  the  course  of  her  first  season,  gathered  in  her 
train.  It  awakened  memories,  too,  of  the  days  when 
Richard  Marven  had  wooed  her.  His  face  had  worn  the 
same  unconscious  air  of  adoration.  Almost  Mrs.  Mar- 
ven's  heart  stood  still,  as  she  watched  Guy's  face  as  he 
stood  leaning  forward  looking  into  Mend's  eyes,  answer- 


MERIEL   MAKES   AN   IMPRESSION        83 

ing  her  smiles  with  his  own;  the  likeness  was  so  vivid 
to  the  memory  she  bore  in  her  heart.  She  would  have 
liked  to  step  forward  and  claim  him.  Her  heart  cried 
out  "  My  son,  my  son,"  but  the  words  died  on  her  lips. 
She  crushed  them  back,  though  the  effort  left  her  lips 
pale. 

Meriel,  looking  towards  her,  noticed  the  pallor  and 
with  a  hasty,  "  You  are  ill,  Auntie,"  was  at  her  side. 

"  I  find  the  theatre  a  little  close,"  murmured  Mrs. 
Marven.  "  If  we  might  have  the  door  of  the  box  open 
a  little."  She  refused  all  suggestions  that  they  should 
leave  the  opera  house,  and,  before  the  attempts  to  per- 
suade her  were  completed,  the  curtain  was  rung  up,  the 
lights  were  lowered,  and  the  opera  proceeded. 

Guy  remained  in  the  box.  Mrs.  Marven  sat  back  in 
the  shadow  studying  his  face  intently.  When  the  second 
act  ended,  she  had  regained  full  control  of  her  emotions, 
and  could  make  light  of  the  supposed  indisposition  with 
which  she  had  apparently  been  attacked.  She  pressed 
Guy  to  remain  in  the  box  for  the  remainder  of  the  even- 
ing, and  he  was  nothing  loth  to  accept  the  invitation. 

There,  then,  he  remained,  unconscious  that  he  was  the 
centre  of  interest  to  the  two  elder  members  of  the  party, 
unstirred  by  any  instinctive  emotion  towards  them,  and 
with  every  thought,  every  faculty,  strained  to  make  the 
most  of  the  flying  minutes  which  gave  him  Meriel's 
company.  He  was  unable  to  solace  himself  with  the 
assurance  that  she  responded  to  the  emotions  which  were 
aroused  in  himself  by  her  presence.  She  was  purely 
natural,  no  spice  of  affectation  spoiled  her  glance  or  her 
smile.  Indeed,  at  times  she  seemed  to  be  unconscious 
even  of  his  existence,  enthralled  in  the  melody  of  the 


84  THE   MASTER   CRIMINAL 

music,  responsive  only  to  the  rhythm  of  the  throbbing 
strings.  Guy  could  hardly  understand  her  rapture. 
Romeo  et  Juliette,  even  with  world-famed  artists  to  sing 
the  title  roles,  had  already  ceased  to  awaken  him  to  pas- 
sionate wonder.  The  naivete  of  the  girl's  enjoyment  sur- 
prised him,  and  he  wished  that  she  might  for  once  have 
forgotten  the  music  for  him. 

Yet,  if  he  had  possessed  the  power  to  peer  into  the 
girl's  heart,  Guy  would  have  found  that  his  own  image 
was  already  stamped  there ;  that  it  was  his  presence  which 
was  the  inspiration  to  enjoy;  that,  unknowingly,  imper- 
ceptibly, the  tiny  seed  of  love  had  been  planted  in  her 
maiden  bosom,  needing  but  the  passage  of  the  hours 
before  it  should  spring  up  into  the  perfect  plant  of  a  pure 
woman's  first  love.  But,  though  Meriel  knew  not  of  the 
implantation,  she  was  conscious  of  the  additional  thrill 
in  her  delight.  The  whole  world  was  now  become  per- 
fect to  her.  She  thought  the  sense  of  beatitude  was  the 
product  of  the  sensuous  melody  of  the  opera. 

There  was  no  discordant  note  anywhere.  The  evening 
promised  to  pass  in  joy  unalloyed.  A  fly  dropped  into 
the  ointment.  She  looked  up  and  met  the  glance  of  Hil- 
debrand  Flurscheim.  To  her  it  was  at  first  the  mere 
casual  glance  of  a  complete  stranger  from  a  near  box. 
But  there  was  something  compelling  in  it.  When  she 
glanced  in  his  direction  again  he  was  still  gazing  steadily 
at  her.  She  drew  herself  back  into  the  shadow.  But 
the  exhilaration  of  spirit  had  passed.  She  felt  compelled 
to  look  again  in  the  direction  of  the  stranger.  He  was 
still  watching.  When  the  act  was  ended,  she  turned 
almost  petulantly  to  Guy. 

"  Can  you  tell  me  who  that  man  is  ?    The  Jew  staring 


MERIEL   MAKES   AN   IMPRESSION        85 

at  us  so  persistently  from  the  fifth  box  on  the  right  ?  " 
she  asked. 

Guy  glanced  in  the  direction  she  indicated,  but  before 
he  answered  Captain  Marven  spoke: 

"  The  fifth?"  he  said.  "  That's  Flurscheim,  the  chap 
who  lost  the  Greuze  the  other  day.  It's  reported,"  he 
added  meditatively,  "  that  he  has  sworn  that  he  will 
devote  the  whole  of  the  rest  of  his  life  if  necessary  to 
tracking  down  the  rascal  who  has  robbed  him  of  his 
picture." 

There  was  a  smile  on  Guy's  face  as  he  answered: 
"  He  doesn't  expect  to  find  it  at  Covent  Garden,  does 
he?" 

Despite  the  smile,  however,  he  was  conscious  of  a 
vague  sense  of  uneasiness  at  the  persistent  scrutiny  which 
Flurscheim  was  bestowing  upon  the  box.  There  are 
times  when  the  fear  of  being  found  out  bears  a  marvel- 
lous similarity  to  the  prickings  of  conscience,  and  certain 
inward  twitches  which  he  felt  made  him  supremely  un- 
comfortable. Hitherto  he  had  always  been  able  to  justify 
his  actions  by  means  of  Lynton  Hora's  philosophy,  but 
now  he  realised  in  a  flash  that  he  would  not  longer  be 
satisfied  by  justification  in  his  own  eyes.  Could  he  justify 
his  deeds  to  the  satisfaction  of  the  pure-browed  girl  by 
whose  side  he  stood?  Would  she  accept  the  doctrine  that 
since  virtue  consisted  in  a  thirst  for  danger  and  a  cour- 
age for  the  forbidden,  the  highest  virtue  was  to  be  found 
in  the  breaking  of  laws?  He  knew  instinctively  that  she 
would  not,  that  in  her  eyes  he  would  appear  no  heroic 
figure  engaged  in  single  combat  against  a  host  of  ene- 
mies, but  the  despicable  figure — a  furtive,  cringing, 
creeping  figure — the  despicable  figure  of  a  thief. 


86  THE   MASTER   CRIMINAL 

He  left  the  box  with  his  thoughts  in  a  turmoil.  He 
scarcely  observed  the  particular  warmth  of  the  farewells 
with  which  both  Mrs.  Marven  and  Captain  Marven  took 
leave  of  him.  He  hardly  noticed  that  Meriel's  hand  had 
lingered  a  moment  in  his  grasp.  He  felt  that  he  must  be 
assured  that  Flurscheim  had  not  been  watching  him. 


CHAPTER   VIII 

A    SUCCESSFUL    SPECULATION    AND    ITS    RESULT 

LYNTON  HORA  felt  that  Fate  had  dealt  generously  with 
him  when  it  made  Captain  Marven  the  bearer  of  the 
despatch  case  which  Guy  had  so  ingeniously  rifled  of  its 
secrets.  Guy's  success  had  supplied  him  with  all  the 
information  necessary  to  bring  off  a  magnificent  coup 
on  the  Stock  Exchange.  He  had  speculated  heavily  for 
the  fall  in  the  securities  of  both  countries.  He  knew  that 
publication  of  the  information  he  had  in  his  possession 
would  make  his  operation  successful.  He  had  not 
scrupled  to  publish  that  information,  though  its  dis- 
closure before  its  discussion  between  the  chancelleries 
of  the  two  nations  concerned  brought  two  great  powers 
to  the  verge  of  war. 

It  found  its  way  into  the  newspapers,  and  while  the 
press  of  two  countries  breathed  defiance,  Hora  laughed 
in  his  sleeve,  cynically  declaring  that  no  farce  is  equal 
to  the  farce  of  civilisation,  since  nations  are  as  ready 
to  fly  at  each  other's  throats  as  any  street  curs.  And 
while  the  newspapers  snarled  and  patriots  in  beer  houses 
and  at  street  corners  sang  national  anthems,  Hora 
watched  the  prices  of  securities,  and  when  the  crisis 
reached  its  acutest  stage,  he  bought  in  his  bear  and  found 
himself  possessed  of  what  to  the  majority  of  men  would 
have  been  a  sufficient  provision  against  the  future. 

But  Guy's  successful  action  had  done  more  than  lead 
to  the  swift  accumulation  of  a  fortune.  Hora  had  not 

87 


88  THE   MASTER^  CRIMINAL 

for  a  moment  anticipated  the  long  arm  of  coincidence 
would  be  stretched  to  such  purpose  as  to  make  the  father 
the  bearer  of  the  despatches  which  the  son  had  stolen. 
It  was  the  crowning  stone  in  the  carefully  built  arch 
which  was  to  bear  the  superstructure  of  his  revenge. 

Hora  felt  almost  superstitiously  inclined  regarding 
the  coincidence.  He  did  not  learn  of  the  identity  of  the 
messenger  until  Guy's  return  from  Lynn,  and,  as  soon 
as  it  was  made  known  to  him,  he  saw  how  the  fact  could 
be  made  to  serve  his  purpose.  Naturally  he  said  nothing 
of  that  ulterior  purpose  to  either  Guy  or  to  Myra.  He 
was  merely  full  of  praises  for  his  pupil.  He  de- 
clared himself  to  be  so  satisfied  that  he  expressed  his 
intention  of  making  the  young  man  master  of  his  own 
actions  for  the  future.  "  You  have  enabled  me  to  pro- 
vide for  myself,  Guy,"  he  said.  "  It  is  now  my  turn  to 
provide  for  you,  so  that  if  at  any  time  you  desire  to  retire 
from  your  profession  you  will  be  at  liberty  to  do  so." 

Guy  had  ridiculed  the  suggestion,  but  Hora  had  in- 
sisted. "  Who  knows  what  may  happen  in  the  future," 
he  said.  "  It  will  be  well  for  you  to  have  money  at  your 
own  disposal.  You  may  quarrel  with  me.  To-day  sons 
always  quarrel  with  their  fathers.  Sometimes  they  rob 
them,  and  if  fathers  were  wise  they  would  always  see 
that  their  sons  are  spared  the  necessity." 

Guy  laughed.  He  felt  that  he  was  not  of  the  common- 
place world  of  sons  who  robbed  their  fathers,  but  he 
gave  way  to  Hora's  whim.  He  instructed  a  broker  on 
his  own  account,  though  the  operation  was  not  in  his  own 
name.  Hora  had  suggested  that  it  would  be  just  as  well 
if  for  the  occasion  Guy  borrowed  another  surname.  So 
the  letter  of  introduction  he  forwarded  to  Hora's  broker 


A    SUCCESSFUL   SPECULATION  89 

introduced  "  my  young  friend  Guy  Marven,  upon  whose 
information  I  am  acting,  and  who,  wishing  to  speculate 
on  his  own  account,  I  am  prepared  to  guarantee  up  to 
£10,000."  Accordingly  it  was  as  Guy  Marven  that  he 
signed  in  due  course  the  transfer  notes  of  stock  which 
came  to  hand,  and  it  was  with  the  name  of  Guy  Marven 
that  he  endorsed  the  cheque  which  he  paid  into  his  own 
banking  account  as  the  result  of  the  speculation 

He  had  wondered  that  Hora  should  have  selected  the 
name  of  Marven  and  had  even  suggested  the  inadvisabil- 
ity  of  making  use  of  it  since  Jones,  Brown,  or  Robinson 
would  have  been  equally  useful  if  the  necessity  existed  to 
use  another  than  his  own.  To  him  it  seemed  that  the 
use  of  the  name  Marven  might  excite  remark.  "  Exactly 
why  I  wish  you  to  use  it,"  Hora  had  answered.  "  If 
anyone  who  was  aware  that  Marven  carried  those  de- 
spatches should  hear  that  a  Marven  had  been  speculating 
for  the  fall,  it  would  not  be  remarkable  if  they  should 
arrive  at  the  conclusion  that  he  had  looked  inside  his  case 
himself." 

"  That  seems  rather  rough  on  Captain  Marven,"  re- 
marked Guy.  It  seemed  a  mean  deed,  and  Hora  had  not 
trained  him  to  take  delight  in  mean  deeds. 

"  Isn't  he  my  enemy,  and  therefore  yours  ?  You  have 
no  reason,  I  suppose,  for  treating  him  with  more  con- 
sideration than  all  the  rest  of  the  world?"  demanded 
Hora. 

Guy  did  not  answer.  He  was  tempted  to  reply  with  a 
direct  "  no,"  but  he  had  never  yet  lied  to  Hora.  Yet  he 
could  not  bring  himself  to  confide  to  the  Commandatore 
the  reason  why  he  would  have  extended  consideration 
to  Captain  Marven.  He  had  no  wish  to  hear  the  Com- 


90  THE   MASTER   CRIMINAL 

mandatore's  biting  cynicisms  applied  personally  to 
Meriel.  The  idea  seemed  sacrilegious.  He  was  relieved 
to  find  that  Hora  made  no  comment  on  this  silence.  But 
the  Commandatore  had  not  failed  to  observe  it,  and  re- 
membering at  the  same  time  how  Guy  had  nearly  let  slip 
the  opportunity  for  securing  the  Greuze  in  the  seductive 
companionship  of  these  same  "  pleasant  people,"  he  real- 
ised that  the  time  had  come  for  him  to  discover  what  the 
attraction  was.  Of  course  he  guessed.  The  miniature 
set  in  the  snuff-box  which  Guy  had  expressed  a  desire 
to  retain  had  not  escaped  his  notice. 

"  The  inevitable  feminine,"  he  said  sneeringly  to  him- 
self. But  he  knew  that  the  inevitable  feminine  has 
always  to  be  reckoned  with  where  a  young  man  is  con- 
cerned, and  generally  where  an  old  man  is  concerned 
also.  It  behooved  him  to  know  something  of  this  new 
factor,  which  might  materially  affect  his  plans.  But  Guy 
must  have  no  suspicion  that  he  was  under  observation. 
Hora's  mind  jumped  to  an  expedient  whereby  his  object 
would  be  secured  without  subjecting  himself  to  incon- 
venience. He  determined  to  make  the  suggestion  which 
had  occurred  to  him  forthwith. 

"  There's  another  matter  which  I  have  been  giving 
thought  to,  Guy.  Don't  you  think  that  it  is  about  time 
you  took  some  chambers  for  yourself?" 

Guy  was  more  than  startled  by  the  suggestion  thus 
sprung  upon  him.  He  had  always  been  left  such  perfect 
freedom  that  there  had  never  been  the  slightest  tempta- 
tion in  the  thought  of  possessing  a  domicile  of  his  own. 

"Why,  Commandatore?"  he  asked.  "I  am  perfectly 
comfortable  at  home  here." 

"  You  will  always  be  at  home  here,  I  hope,"  replied 


A   SUCCESSFUL   SPECULATION  91 

Hora,  "  but  at  the  same  time  there  is  much  to  be  said  in 
favour  of  the  course  I  am  proposing.  Now  listen,  Guy. 
I  will  say  nothing  of  the  extra  freedom  which  will  be 
yours." 

"  I  could  not  have  more  than  I  enjoy  at  present,"  re- 
marked Guy. 

Hora  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  Men  are  men,"  he 
said.  "  You  may  be  having  visitors  who  might  hardly 
like  to  come  here.  Eh  ?  " 

Guy  smiled. 

"  I  see  it  is  possible,"  continued  Hora,  smiling  in  his 
turn.  "  Then  there  are  others  whom  I  might  not  wish 
to  meet.  The  men  of  your  own  years  with  whom  you 
mix,  with  whom  you  must  mix  if  you  are  to  keep  your 
position,  will  probably  be  often  dropping  in  on  you.  I 
am  getting  of  an  age,  Guy,  when  I  might  find  their  pres- 
ence, I  will  not  say  distasteful,  but  just  a  little  weari- 
some. At  chambers  of  your  own  you  will  be  much 
freer  in  that  respect." 

"  There  are  my  clubs,"  objected  Guy. 

Hora  waved  the  objection  aside. 

"  Then  there  is  the  additional  reason  of  our  joint  safety 
to  be  considered,"  continued  Hora  meditatively.  "  It 
seems  to  me  that  if  you  are  located  in  a  place  of  your 
own  we  shall  be  provided  with  another  strategic  centre 
from  which  to  carry  on  operations.  You  see  it  might  be 
important  for  the  safety  of  both  or  either  of  us  that  we 
should  not  be  living  under  the  same  roof." 

"  Certainly,  I  see  your  point  there,"  replied  Guy,  and 
he  became  thoughtful. 

"  Think  it  over,  Guy,"  said  Hora,  and  he  left  the  young 
man. 


92  THE   MASTER   CRIMINAL 

Guy  thought  it  over,  and  was  surprised  when  he  did 
so  that  the  idea  proved  so  attractive.  It  was  not  that  he 
was  ungrateful.  He  could  not  believe  that  the  daily  com- 
panionship of  Hora  was  becoming  distasteful,  and  yet 
there  was  certainly  relief  in  the  thought  that  he  should  be 
apart  from  the  man  whom  he  called  father.  How  greatly 
this  thought  was  due  to  the  impression  that  Meriel  Chal- 
lys  had  produced  upon  him  he  did  not  appreciate,  but  the 
knowledge  that  if  he  were  settled  in  a  home  of  his  own 
he  might  perhaps  escape  taking  part  in  any  plans  for 
revenge  which  Hora  might  be  weaving  about  Captain 
Marven,  was  certainly  a  powerful  consideration. 

When,  therefore,  Hora  broached  the  subject  again 
after  dinner  that  night,  Guy  was  quite  prepared,  nay,  even 
eager,  to  fall  in  with  his  views.  Hora  was  more  than 
ever  convinced  that  some  unknown  factor  was  influencing 
his  adopted  son. 

The  only  voice  raised  in  protest  was  Myra's. 

"  You — you  are  going  away  ?    Why  ?  "  she  asked. 

There  was  a  tremor  in  her  voice  which  made  Hora 
intervene  hastily. 

"  It  is  my  wish,  Myra,"  he  said.  The  woman  shivered 
at  the  menace  of  his  tone.  But  it  produced  the  result 
Hora  desired.  She  quelled  the  emotion  that  struggled 
for  utterance,  and  listened  in  silence  while  Hora  reiter- 
ated the  reasons  which  he  had  already  given  to  Guy. 

But  though  dumbly  acquiescent  she  did  not  believe 
in  Hora's  statement  as  to  the  motives  which  animated 
him,  and  when,  after  Guy  had  left  them,  she  was  alone 
with  Hora,  she  returned  again  to  the  subject. 

"  Why  are  you  sending  Guy  away  ?  "  she  asked.  "  Is 
it  to  avert  danger  from  yourself?"  There  was  scorn 


A   SUCCESSFUL    SPECULATION  93 

in  her  tone.  Hora  made  no  attempt  to  avert  the  threat- 
ened emotional  storm. 

"  Have  I  ever  feared  danger  ?  "  he  asked  sneeringly. 

"  I've  never  known  you  to  face  it.  I  don't  know  any- 
thing about  your  feelings,"  she  replied. 

Hora  looked  at  her.  She  had  never  dared  so  to  speak 
to  him  before,  and  he  knew  that  she  must  be  greatly 
moved  to  so  provoke  his  anger. 

"  You  know  nothing,"  he  replied  calmly.  "  A  woman 
is  utterly  unable  to  comprehend  a  masculine  point  of 
view." 

"  A  woman  cannot  live  in  the  same  house  with  a  man 
and  fail  to  know  something  of  his  character,  and  I  know 
something  of  yours,  Commandatore." 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders  in  amused  surprise. 

"You  find  me  an  interesting  study,  Myra?"  he 
drawled.  He  could  not  have  said  anything  more  calcu- 
lated to  arouse  Myra's  tempestuous  spirit. 

"  Interesting  ?  "  she  exclaimed.  "  I  don't  know  about 
that.  You  don't  interest  me  in  the  least.  I — I — hate 
you." 

"  Dear  me !  "  replied  Hora  equably.  "  I  might  have 
expected  you  to  do  so.  Perhaps  I  have,  for  there's  un- 
doubtedly wisdom  in  the  suggestion  that  one  does  not 
pluck  figs  from  thistles,  though  the  saying  is  somewhat 
hackneyed." 

"  You  need  not  throw  my  origin  in  my  teeth,  Comman- 
datore," she  replied.  "  I  am  sufficiently  conscious  of 
it,  and  as  for  gratitude — well,  I  often  think  I  should  have 
been  far  better  off  in  the  slums  from  which  you  picked 
me.  I  should  have  been  happy  enough.  The  precious 
education  you  have  given  me  has  only  enabled  me  to 


94  THE   MASTER   CRIMINAL 

realise  my  own  impossibility.  You  have  given  me  knowl- 
edge, and  with  it  the  capacity  for  suffering." 

"  Like  your  mother  Eve,"  responded  Hora  quietly, 
"you  longed  for  the  apple  and  blame  the  serpent." 

"  Eve  was  no  child,  and  I  was  a  child  when  you  gave 
me  the  apple,"  she  answered  more  quietly. 

"That  is  true,"  replied  Hora.  "Possibly  I  did 
wrongly.  I  should  have  left  you  to  bloom  in  your  own 
soil.  You  would  have  been  overblown  by  this  time, 
Myra — some  drunken  ruffian's  doxy — taking  your  weekly 
beating  without  a  whimper  and  seeing  heaven  in  a  quar- 
tern of  gin." 

"Better  that— better  that — than "     She  paused. 

"  Well  ?  "  asked  Hora.  She  muttered  something  sul- 
lenly, but  in  so  low  a  tone  that  the  words  did  not  reach 
his  ears. 

He  continued,  "  You  were  asking  me  why  I  think  it 
well  that  Guy  should  have  a  home  of  his  own.  I  have 
given  you  my  reasons.  I  really  should  have  thought 
you  were  intelligent  enough  to  realise  their  force." 

"I  don't  believe  in  them,"  she  flashed  out.  "Oh,  I 
know  you  better  than  that,  Commandatore.  I  know  your 
subtle  methods.  You  have  some  other  end  in  view.  What 
it  is  I  know  not}  but  I  am  sure  it  means  danger  to  Guy." 
She  had  been  moving  restlessly  backwards  and  forwards, 
but  now  she  paused  and  faced  Hora.  "  I  tell  you,  Com- 
mandatore, that  if  anything  happens  to  Guy  you  shall 
not  escape.  I  swear  it." 

Despite  his  apparent  unconcern  Hora  was  impressed 
by  the  latent  passion  in  her  tone.  Almost  he  regretted 
that  he  had  not  left  the  beautiful  flower  to  be  choked  by 
the  weeds  from  which  he  had  plucked  it.  But  he  remem- 


A   SUCCESSFUL   SPECULATION  95 

bered  that  he  had  one  means  of  controlling  Myra  which 
would  necessarily  prove  effective.  He  rose  from  the 
chair  where  he  had  been  sitting.  "  If  anything  happens 
to  Guy,  I  don't  suppose  I  shall  care  much  what  happens 
to  myself,"  he  replied  gravely.  "  Is  he  not  my  son  ?  " 

"  Your  son  ?  "  replied  Myra.  "  I  doubt  it,  Comman- 
datore.  No  father  would  ever  have  brought  up  a  son 
as  you  have  brought  up  Guy.  Besides,  there  is  nothing 
of  you  in  him.  I  know  you  both.  There's  not  a  fea- 
ture alike,  and  the  difference  between  your  thoughts 
and  actions  and  his  is  just  as  strongly  marked." 

"  You  are  talking  nonsense,  Myra,"  he  said  harshly, 
far  more  perturbed  than  he  cared  to  confess  at  the  dis- 
covery by  which  the  woman's  intuition  had  arrived  at 
the  truth. 

"  You  may  call  it  nonsense,"  she  continued  wildly, 
"  but  there's  no  blood  of  yours  in  Guy's  veins " 

Hora  checked  her.  He  laid  his  hand  on  her  shoulder, 
and  though  she  made  an  effort  to  throw  off  his  grip  he 
held  her  tightly  and  thrust  her  down  into  an  easy  chair. 

"  You  little  fool,"  he  said,  "  you  don't  know  what  you 
are  talking  about.  Like  all  women  in  love  you  let  your 
imagination  run  away  with  you." 

She  still  struggled  ineffectually  to  escape  from  his 
grasp  while  he  continued.  "  Suppose  I  had  other  motives 
than  those  I  have  given  to  you  and  Guy  for  desiring  that 
he  should  live  apart  from  us  for  a  little  while,  have  I 
ever  by  any  chance  done  anything  which  could  bring 
danger  upon  him?  Did  it  never  occur  to  you  that  one 
of  my  motives  had  connection  with  yourself  ?  " 

She  ceased  to  struggle.  Her  hands  dropped  limply 
by  her  side. 


96  THE   MASTER   CRIMINAL 

"  I  might  have  known,  I  might  have  known,"  she 
cried ;  "  and  yet,  Commandatore,  you  promised  me  that 
I  should  have  my  chance." 

Hora  saw  that  he  had  won  the  battle.  He  loosed  his 
grip  of  Myra's  arm  and  returned  to  his  chair. 

The  girl  rose  and  following  him  dropped  on  her  knees 
before  him.  The  tears  were  in  her  eyes  and  her  bosom 
rose  and  fell  stormily.  "  You  promised  me  I  should 
have  my  chance,  Commandatore.  Don't  send  Guy  away. 
I  cannot  bear  it.  Indeed — indeed,  I  cannot  bear  it." 
Sobs  choked  her  utterance. 

Hora  allowed  her  to  weep  awhile.  Then  he  laid  his 
hand  gently  on  her  bowed  head. 

"  Poor  little  woman,"  he  said,  "  if  you  could  only  see 
an  inch  beyond  your  own  nose,  you  would  realise  that  I 
am  giving  you  your  chance  now." 

She  looked  up  incredulously,  but  with  a  dawning  hope 
flushing  through  her  tears.  "  I  don't  understand 
how "  she  began. 

"  You  have  been  too  near  Guy,"  he  remarked.  "  He 
has  never  realised  your  value.  At  a  little  distance  he 
will  be  more  clear-sighted.  A  woman  is  like  any  other 
work  of  art.  Her  beauties  are  invisible  unless  seen  in 
proper  perspective.  While  you  live  in  the  same  house 
he  will  never  realise  that  you  may  be  more  than  a  sister." 

"  Then  you  think "  she  asked. 

"  I  am  sure  of  it,"  replied  Hora  decisively.  "  It  is  to 
give  you  the  chance  you  desire  that  I  have  persuaded 
Guy  to  live  apart  from  us  awhile,  for  that  and  in  order 
to  discover  something  about  a  rival  whom  I  suspect  you 
may  have." 


CHAPTER   IX 

CONCERNING  A  GREAT   MAN'S  VEXATION 

WHEN  the  carriage  containing  the  Great  Man  rolled 
up  to  the  door  on  the  south  side  of  Downing  Street  the 
constable  stationed  there  stiffened  himself  preparatory 
to  saluting.  But  his  salute  passed  unnoticed.  The  door 
swung  open,  but  the  commissionaire  got  not  so  much  as 
a  glance. 

"  There's  trouble  brewing  in  China,"  said  the  worthy 
hall  porter  to  his  circle  of  cronies  that  same  evening  in 
the  private  bar  of  the  "  Lord  Palmerston,"  "  you  mark 
my  words  if  there  isn't." 

"  More  likely  to  be  with  Germany.  That's  the  right 
place  to  look  for  trouble,"  asserted  one  of  the  listeners. 

"  Of  course,  you  would  know  better  than  me,"  replied 
the  worthy  janitor.  "You  read  the  papers  every  day, 
so  you  can't  be  wrong."  There  was  unutterable  scorn 
in  his  tone  as  he  referred  to  the  press. 

"  And  what's  wrong  with  the  papers  ?  "  enquired  the 
interlocutor  in  an  aggrieved  voice.  "  I  suppose  they 
know  as  much  about  things  as  you  do,  any  day." 

The  commissionaire  pursed  his  lips,  blew  his  nose, 
and  finished  his  beer  before  he  found  words  to  convey 
his  answer. 

"  The  newspapers !  The  newspapers  are  common 
liars !  "  he  answered,  "  and  ought  to  be  hanged  as  such, 

97 


98  THE   MASTER   CRIMINAL 

No— don't  you  go  for  to  speak  up  for  'em — George  Jen- 
kins— we  know  all  about  the  papers  in  our  department." 

Jenkins  did  not  subside  immediately. 

"  I  presume  Sir  Gadsby  takes  you  into  'is  confidence 
— not  to  say  asks  your  advice  occasional  ? "  he  asked 
sarcastically. 

"  He  might  do  worse  than  ask  the  advice  of  a  man 
who's  fought  in  h'all  four  quarters  of  the  globe  and  'as 
the  right  to  wear  six  medals  and  twelve  bars,"  inter- 
rupted another  listener  propitiatingly. 

"  So  he  might,"  replied  the  commissionaire  smiling 
genially,  "  but  that's  neither  here  nor  there.  If  you  want 
to  know  why  I  say  it's  China,  I  don't  mind  telling  you." 
He  glanced  round  to  see  that  no  outsiders  were  within 
earshot  and  dropped  his  voice  into  a  confidential  whisper. 

"  Four  secretaries  have  I  known  since  I  went  to  our 
place,  and  I  studies  'em  until  I  comes  to  read  'em  like 
books,  and  Sir  Gadsby  Dimbleby  is  one  of  the  easiest 
volumes  I've  ever  had  to  study.  I  know  'is  German 
face  an'  'is  Russian  face  as  well  as  I  know  my  own. 
This  morning  when  he  come  in  I  could  read  China  in  'is 
heye  as  plain  as  if  it  were  in  the  biggest  print.  You 
mark  my  words  there's  trouble  brewin'  in  China." 

The  oracle  had  spoken,  and  as  is  often  the  case  with 
oracles  which  have  not  been  primed  with  facts,  the  utter- 
ance was  as  wide  of  the  mark  as  it  could  well  be. 

Sir  Gadsby  Dimbleby's  brain  had  not  been  occupied 
in  the  least  degree  with  Chinese  affairs  as  he  passed  the 
portals  of  the  Foreign  Office.  He  was  troubling  about 
something  which  had  happened  much  nearer  home,  a 
subject  which  had  been  pigeonholed  in  one  of  the  com- 
partments of  his  brain  until  the  crisis  in  the  rela- 


A   GREAT   MAN'S   VEXATION  99 

tions  with  Germany  caused  by  the  premature  disclosure 
of  the  unfortunate  incident  in  the  South  Seas  should 
have  passed.  That  storm  had  been  safely  weathered,  and 
H.  M.  Secretary  of  State  for  Foreign  Affairs  bethought 
himself  of  the  promise  he  had  made  to  himself  to  dis- 
cover how  the  information  had  leaked  out.  To  him  it 
seemed  uncommonly  like  treachery  on  the  part  of  some- 
one, and  being  by  birth,  education,  and  natural  instinct 
a  thorough  English  gentleman,  the  idea  even  of  having 
to  suspect  anyone  in  the  great  department  of  which  he 
was  the  head  of  treachery  was  odious  to  him.  So  the 
Great  Man  passed,  heedless  of  the  salutes  of  officials, 
to  the  uttermost  sanctum  where  the  Permanent  Secretary 
sat  with  his  fingers  on  the  strings  which  directed  British 
policy  all  over  the  world,  peacefully  enjoying  a  matu- 
tinal cigar  while  glancing  over  the  precis  of  a  verbose 
despatch,  prepared  by  his  own  secretary,  from  the  Gov- 
ernor of  a  wind-swept  rock  in  the  South  Atlantic  con- 
cerning the  deadly  damage  likely  to  be  done  to  British 
interests  by  ceasing  to  imprison  a  garrison  in  such  an 
out-of-the-way  spot. 

The  Permanent  Secretary  looked  up  as  the  Great  Man 
entered  and  wondered.  He  was  at  a  loss  to  understand 
the  reason  for  the  knitted  brow.  The  political  horizon 
was  clear  and  nothing  could  happen  without  his  knowl- 
edge. He  guessed  that  the  reason  was  domestic.  He 
knew  that  Lady  Gadsby  had  a  will  of  her  own,  and  that 
even  Great  Men  are  human  enough  to  be  annoyed  by 
feminine  displeasure. 

But  Sir  Gadsby  soon  undeceived  him.  He  fidgetted 
about  uncomfortably  for  a  minute  or  two,  irritably  ask- 
ing questions  about  minor  matters  which  had  recently 


ioo  THE   MASTER   CRIMINAL 

engaged  his  attention  before  he  plunged  into  the  subject 
which  filled  his  thoughts. 

"  Look  here,  Markham,"  he  said,  "  that  German  busi- 
ness in  the  South  Pacific  is  still  worrying  me." 

The  Permanent  Secretary  looked  at  him  in  surprise. 
"  There's  no  need  to  worry,  Dimbleby,"  he  answered, 
"  that  storm's  blown  over  all  right." 

"  That's  not  the  point,"  snapped  Sir  Gadsby.  "  What 
I  want  to  know  is  how  that  information  leaked  out  in  the 
newspapers.  Have  you  any  suspicions  ?  " 

The  Great  Man  frowned  at  the  Permanent  Secretary, 
and  the  Permanent  Secretary  frowned  at  the  Great  Man. 
The  Permanent  Secretary  was  silent  so  long  that  the 
Great  Man  continued,  "  I  hate  to  think  that  any  of  our 
people  can  have  been  so  lost  to  all  sense  of  decency  and 
honour,  yet  what  on  earth  can  I  think?  You  have  told 
me  yourself  that  our  despatch  must  have  been  tapped 
somehow." 

"  I  have  puzzled  over  the  matter  as  much  as  your- 
self," said  the  Permanent  Secretary  slowly,  "and  am  as 
much  at  a  loss  as  yourself  to  account  for  the  information 
leaking  out.  It  seems  to  me  that  there  are  only  two 
persons  whom  it  is  possible  to  suspect." 

"  And  those  ?  "  queried  the  Great  Man  eagerly. 

"  Are  our  own  two  selves,"  was  the  answer. 

Despite  his  irritation  the  Great  Man  laughed  at  the 
whimsicality  of  the  idea,  but  he  became  grave  again 
rapidly. 

"  If  that's  the  case,  we  must  bring  a  different  order 
of  intelligence  to  bear  upon  the  problem.  What  do  you 
say  to  asking  the  assistance  of  Scotland  Yard,  Mark- 
ham?" 


A   GREAT    MAN'S   VEXATION  101 

"  I've  not  much  belief  in  Scotland  Yard,"  replied  the 
Permanent  Secretary,  "  but  still  there  can  be  no  harm 
in  our  giving  them  the  opportunity  of  investigating  the 
affair.  They  may  discover  a  clue  which  will  assist  us 
in  coming  to  some  conclusion." 

"  Then  send  over  a  messenger  at  once,  Markham," 
said  the  Great  Man  energetically.  "  I  shall  never  feel 
safe  if  the  contents  of  despatches  are  to  leak  out  in  this 
manner.  Ask  the  Commissioner  to  send  over  his  most 
intelligent  officer — no,  ask  them  to  send  Kenly.  I  know 
he's  got  common  sense — to  make  a  delicate  investigation. 
We  will  see  him  together."  Then  he  stalked  off  to  his 
own  room  and  worked  off  his  irritation  in  preparing  sar- 
castic answers  to  inconvenient  questions  in  Parliament, 
of  which  notice  had  been  given  him  by  members  of  the 
'Opposition  Party.  Consequently  he  had  recovered  his 
accustomed  urbanity  when  the  Permanent  Secretary,  ac- 
companied by  Detective  Inspector  Kenly,  was  ushered 
into  his  presence.  He  greeted  the  newcomer  heartily. 

"  Glad  the  Commissioner  could  spare  you,  Kenly. 
There's  nothing  like  having  a  man  to  undertake  confi- 
dential work  whom  one  knows  from  experience  one  can 
trust.  I  suppose  Sir  Everard  Markham  has  told  you 
what  we  want  you  to  do?  " 

The  Permanent  Secretary  interrupted  with  a  hasty 
negation. 

"  Oh,  well,  the  matter  will  not  take  long  to  explain," 
continued  the  Great  Man.  "  Correct  me  if  I  am  wrong, 
Markham." 

The  Permanent  Secretary  nodded  and  handed  a  cigar 
case  to  the  chief. 

"  Not  before  lunch,"  said  the  Great  Man.     He  turned 


102  THE   MASTER   CRIMINAL 

to  the  detective.  "  On  the  face  of  it  the  matter  should 
prove  a  simple  one,  Kenly,  but  just  at  present  it  is  be- 
yond our  combined  intelligence  to  fathom  it.  Late  on 
the  fifteenth — a  Tuesday,  wasn't  it,  Markham  ? — a  cypher 
cablegram  containing  important  information  came  into 
this  office.  The  despatch  was  de-coded " 

"  By  myself,"  interrupted  the  Permanent  Secretary. 

"  Placed  in  a  despatch  case  which  was  sealed  in  the 
usual  way  and  forwarded  by  King's  Messenger  to  me," 
continued  Sir  Gadsby.  "  I  received  the  case,  broke  the 
seals  myself,  and  retained  the  despatch  in  my  own  pos- 
session." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  detective,  as  the  Great  Man  paused. 

"  The  despatch  related  to  the  recent  trouble  in  the 
South  Pacific,  the  German  affair,"  remarked  the  Per- 
manent Secretary,  "and  next  morning  there  was  wild 
excitement  on  the  Stock  Exchange,  and  later  in  the  day 
the  newspapers  published  full  details  of  the  trouble, 
much  to  our  embarrassment." 

"  H — m,"  said  the  detective,  "  I  suppose  you  want  me 
to  find  out  who  gave  the  show  away  ?  " 

"  Your  perspicacity  is  wonderful,  Kenly,"  remarked 
the  Great  Man  drily  and  the  Permanent  Secretary  smiled. 
"  At  present,  Markham,  I  know,  suspects  me  of  '  giving 
the  show  away,'  as  you  put  it,  and  if  I  didn't  know  Mark- 
ham  I  should  be  compelled  to  suspect  him.  We  are 
really  the  only  two  possible  suspects." 

"  H — m,"  said  the  detective  a  second  time  before  re- 
marking deprecatingly,  "  The  despatch  passed  through  the 
hands  of  a  third  person.  I  think  you  mentioned  a  King's 
Messenger?  " 

"  I  sealed  the  despatches  with  my  own  hands,"  re- 


A   GREAT   MAN'S   VEXATION  103 

marked  the  Permanent  Secretary.  "  And  the  seals  were 
intact  when  I  took  the  case  from  Captain  Marven's 
hands,"  added  the  Great  Man. 

The  detective  hazarded  another  suggestion. 

"  Is  it  quite  impossible  that  the  information  might 
not  have  reached  the  Stock  Exchange  and  the  newspapers 
from  an  external  source  ?  " 

"  So  far  as  we  can  ascertain,  quite  impossible,"  replied 
the  Permanent  Secretary.  "  We  have  ascertained  that 
no  cable  was  received  in  London  which  could  in  any  way 
have  related  to  the  affair  before  the  publication  of  the 
news." 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  said  the  Great  Man  briskly,  "  that 
even  if  we  cannot  get  direct  evidence  as  to  the  source 
through  which  the  information  leaked  out,  we  should  at 
least  be  able  to  come  to  some  sort  of  conclusion  if  we 
knew  the  names  of  the  parties  who  must  have  benefited 
by  the  Stock  Exchange  operations." 

"  I  see,"  said  the  detective.  "  Well,  Sir  Gadsby,  I'll 
do  my  best  to  find  that  out  for  you." 

"  I  know  you  will,  Kenly,"  said  the  Great  Man.  "  But 
not  a  word  to  anyone ;  and,  while  I  think  of  it,  I'll  write 
a  note  to  the  Commissioner  and  ask  him  to  allow  you  to 
report  directly  to  Markham  here,  and  to  devote  your 
whole  time  and  attention  to  this  business." 

"  Very  good,  Sir  Gadsby,"  said  the  detective,  and  the 
interview  ended. 

When  alone  with  the  Permanent  Secretary,  Inspector 
Kenly  asked  every  question  which  occurred  to  his  active 
brain,  but  he  elucidated  nothing  more  than  the  very 
simple  facts  with  which  he  had  already  been  made  ac- 
quainted, and  when  he  left  the  Foreign  Office  it  was  with 


104  THE   MASTER   CRIMINAL 

no  very  hopeful  feeling  of  being  able  to  lay  his  hand 
on  the  culprit.  It  is  true  that  there  had  occurred  to  him 
the  glimmering  of  a  possibility  as  to  who  might  have 
been  responsible  for  the  disclosure.  The  despatches  had 
been  in  the  possession  of  a  third  party,  in  the  possession 
of  Captain  Marven,  the  King's  Messenger,  for  seven 
or  eight  hours;  and  Inspector  Kenly  had  no  particular 
reason  for  believing  that  official  locks  and  seals  were 
more  inviolable  than  any  other  locks  and  seals  if  submit- 
ted to  the  gentle  manipulation  of  an  expert.  But  he  had 
met  Captain  Marven  in  the  course  of  his  official  life,  and 
what  he  had  seen  of  him  led  him  to  credit  the  reputation 
for  perfect  probity  and  honour  which  the  King's  Mes- 
senger held  in  the  eyes  of  the  world. 

"  I  should  have  liked  an  easier  job,"  grumbled  In- 
spector Kenly  to  himself.  "  Another  failure  to  -find  out 
anything  coming  on  top  of  my  failure  to  get  the  slightest 
clue  to  the  mystery  of  the  Flurscheim  affair  will  make 
the  Chief  think  that  I  am  getting  past  my  work.  How- 
ever, it's  no  use  worrying  because  I'm  not  possessed  of 
the  gift  of  divination.  What  is,  was  to  be,"  with  which 
philosophic  reflection  he  stepped  aboard  a  'bus  bound 
Citywards,  and,  while  engaged  there  in  his  investigations, 
the  Great  Man,  having  finished  preparing  his  list  of  an- 
swers for  the  day's  sitting  of  Parliament,  carried  off  the 
Permanent  Secretary  to  lunch  with  him.  They  enjoyed 
their  meal  none  the  less  because  they  had  unloaded  the 
cause  of  their  vexation  upon  the  broad  shoulders  of  De- 
tective Inspector  Kenly. 


CHAPTER   X 

A  NEW  VIEW   OF  THE  FLURSCHEIM    ROBBERY 

TIME  did  not  touch  Mr.  Hildebrand  Flurscheim's  sore 
with  a  healing  finger.  A  month  after  he  had  been 
robbed  of  his  treasures  the  wound  was  still  open,  though 
by  that  time  he  had  been  wise  enough  to  conceal  it  with 
a.  decent  bandage  from  the  curious  eyes  of  the  public. 
But  his  friends  and  his  enemies  knew  that  it  was  there 
and  condoled  or  rejoiced,  according  to  their  several  tem- 
peraments. Perhaps  there  were  more  who  rejoiced  than 
of  those  who  pitied  him,  for  Flurscheim  was  not  a  popu- 
lar man.  Even  his  friends  were  compelled  to  admit  that 
he  was  something  of  a  curmudgeon,  and  were  not  quite 
so  sorry  as  they  would  have  been  had  the  loss  fallen  upon 
anyone  else. 

After  the  robbery  he  became  more  curmudgeonish  than 
ever,  and  his  perpetual  growlings  at  everything  and 
everybody  made  him  so  undesirable  a  companion  that 
even  his  poor  relations  began  to  find  that  his  company 
was  an  infliction  that  was  barely  endurable,  even  when 
sweetened  by  the  prospect  of  figuring  in  his  will.  Yet 
as  people  shrank  from  him  he  seemed  anxious  for  society. 
Partly  because  he  realised  that  if  he  were  cloistered  with 
his  own  thoughts  his  broodings  would  terminate  in  mad- 
ness, and  partly  because  he  wished  to  make  clear  to  the 
world  that  his  loss  was  a  mere  triviality  to  a  man  of  his 
wealth,  he  sought  to  entertain  in  a  manner  which  was 

105 


io6  THE   MASTER   CRIMINAL 

entirely  foreign  to  his  earlier  habit  and  his  real  desire. 
He  had  a  wide  acquaintance,  and  there  were  many  of  the 
butterflies  of  fashion  and  rank  who  were  attracted  to  his 
dinner-table  once  by  curiosity.  If,  after  the  experience, 
they  decided  not  to  go  a  second  time,  it  was  too  early 
for  the  connoisseur  to  have  discovered  the  fact.  It  was 
in  pursuance  of  this  campaign  of  detraction  that  he  had 
found  himself  at  the  opera  when  his  stares  had  proved 
so  discomposing  to  Meriel  Challys  and — afterwards — to 
Guy.  The  latter,  had  he  known,  need  have  taken  no 
alarm.  Flurscheim's  scrutiny  was  not  directed  towards 
him.  Meriel's  face  alone  had  engaged  his  attention.  He 
had  first  caught  sight  of  her  as  she  had  bent  forward  to 
drink  in  the  music,  and  he  recognised  that  her  features 
were  familiar  to  him,  but  where  and  when  he  had  met 
her  he  could  not  for  the  moment  remember.  It  was  not 
until  after  he  had  left  the  opera  house  that  his  memory 
supplied  the  answer  he  sought.  Then  he  remembered 
that  one  of  the  stolen  miniatures  would  have  served  as  a 
portrait  of  the  girl. 

Immediately  he  began  to  weave  a  new  theory  concern- 
ing the  burglary.  He  had  woven  many  theories  before; 
avarice,  spite,  disappointed  rivalry  had  all  supplied  mo- 
tives for  them,  but  never  had  he  considered  the  possibil- 
ity of  a  love  motive  for  the  robbery.  Supposing  that 
some  unfavoured  suitor  had  seen  the  miniature,  and, 
coveting  it,  had  broken  in  to  steal  it.  No!  Such  a 
theory  was  too  wild  for  even  his  own  belief.  Yet  the 
likeness  was  so  extraordinary  that  he  looked  forward  to 
meeting  the  owner  of  the  strangely  attractive  face  again. 

Fortune  favoured  him,  for  within  a  week  he  found 
himself  at  a  garden  party  at  which  Meriel  was  also  a 


THE   FLURSCHEIM   ROBBERY  107 

guest.  He  sought  and  obtained  an  introduction  from  the 
hostess,  and  was  quite  oblivious  to  the  chilly  character 
of  his  reception. 

"  I  particularly  wanted  to  meet  you,  Miss  Challys.  In- 
deed, I  may  say  that  since  I  saw  you  at  the  opera  a  week 
ago  your  face  has  really  haunted  me,"  said  Flurscheim. 

Meriel's  eyebrows  arched.     She  meditated  flight. 

"  I'm  afraid  you  must  have  thought  me  an  awful  boun- 
der, staring  at  you  the  other  night,"  he  continued,  "  but 
your  face  was  so  familiar  to  me,  and  yet  I  could  not  re- 
call where  I  had  met  you.  It  wasn't  until  after  the 
opera  was  over  that  I  remembered  that  one  of  my  stolen 
miniatures  was  a  most  striking  portrait  of  you;  I 
hope  that  you  will  realise  that  my  rudeness  was  uninten- 
tional." 

"  I  certainly  did  not  think  so  at  the  time,"  replied 
Meriel. 

"  It  was  quite  a  relief  when  I  placed  my  memory," 
said  the  connoisseur.  "  D'you  know  that  I'm  one  of 
those  men  that  are  made  supremely  uncomfortable  by  a 
lapse  of  memory  of  that  sort.  I  begin  to  think  my  brain's 
failing  if  it  doesn't  respond  at  once  to  any  call  I  make 
upon  it,  and  after  my  recent  worry  I  really  began  to  be 
anxious." 

"  Did  the  burglary  worry  you  so  much  as  all  that?" 
replied  Meriel.  Usually  sympathetic  to  any  story  of 
trouble,  she  felt  it  difficult  to  express  any  sympathy  with 
the  loss  the  wealthy  connoisseur  had  sustained. 

"Worry  me?"  asked  Flurscheim  in  an  astonished 
tone.  "  Worry  me  ?  "  he  repeated.  "  Worry  isn't  the 
name  for  what  I've  gone  through.  I  can  see  you  don't 
understand  what  a  collector's  treasures  mean  to  him. 


io8  THE   MASTER   CRIMINAL 

My  dear  young  lady  " — in  his  excitement  an  accent  be- 
came audible  which  made  of  the  words  "  ma  tear  young 
lady," — my  pictures  are  what  I've  lived  for.  If  I  lose 
them  my  life  is  as  empty — as  empty" — he  looked  round 
for  an  appropriate  simile  and  found  one  handy — "  as 
most  of  these  people's  pockets." 

Meriel  smiled  at  the  racial  revelation.  Flurscheim 
thought  she  smiled  at  the  simile  itself.  "  Fortunately 
it  was  only  one  of  my  pictures  that  was  taken,"  he  con- 
tinued, "  but " — he  could  not  resist  the  wail — "  it  was 
the  best  of  the  lot.  I  would  rather  have  lost  any  two  of 
the  others." 

Meriel  began  to  be  interested  in  the  man.  He  was 
manifestly  honest  in  his  confession.  She  even  managed 
to  infuse  a  little  sympathy  into  her  enquiry  as  to  whether 
the  police  had  obtained  no  clue  to  the  thief.  By  so  asking 
she  struck  another  chord  in  the  keyboard  of  the  Flur- 
scheim emotions. 

"The  police!  Fools!  Dolts!  Idiots !"  he  exclaimed. 
"  Of  what  use  are  the  police  but  to  strut  about  and 
direct  the  traffic?  When  it  comes  to  catching  thieves 
they  are  just  about  as  useful  as  the  pigeons  in  the 
parks.  Some  of  them  call  themselves  detectives,"  he 
continued  with  virulent  scorn.  "  There's  one  of  them 
called  Kenly,  an  inspector  with  a  reputation  of  being 
one  of  the  smartest  men  at  Scotland  Yard!  Got  it,  I 
should  think,  the  same  way  as  an  owl  gets  a  reputation 
for  wisdom.  Cocks  his  ears,  opens  his  eyes  wide,  and 
keeps  his  mouth  shut.  For  nearly  six  weeks  he  has  been 
doing  nothing  else  but  investigate  my  robbery.  And 
what  has  he  found  out?  Nothing,  absolutely  nothing. 
Detectives,  bah !  "  He  pulled  himself  up  with  an  effort. 


THE  FLURSCHEIM  ROBBERY     109 

"  I've  promised  myself  I  wouldn't  talk  about  the  mat- 
ter to  anyone,  Miss  Challys.  I  can't  do  so  without  losing 
my  temper,  and  it  will  give  you  a  very  bad  opinion  of  me 
if  I  have  to  apologise  to  you  twice  in  one  day." 

"  You  seem  to  lose  it  pretty  easily,  Mr.  Flurscheim," 
she  answered. 

"  Can't  help  it,  Miss  Challys.  So  I'll  apologise  straight 
away  for  doing  so  and  for  staring  at  you  the  other  night, 
for  I  know  you  were  annoyed.  It  never  struck  me  that 
you  might  be  annoyed,  you  know.  Most  girls  to-day 
take  it  as  a  compliment  when  a  man  looks  'em  over." 

Meriel  stiffened  and,  looking  away,  met  Guy's  eyes. 
She  had  known  that  he  expected  to  be  present,  and  at 
the  recognition  her  whole  face  brightened.  Guy  had 
already  recognised  Flurscheim,  and  though  the  fact  that 
he  was  apparently  engaged  in  earnest  conversation  with 
Meriel  gave  him  a  twinge  of  apprehension,  he  did  not 
hesitate  to  come  forward. 

Flurscheim  looked  upon  the  young  man  disapprovingly 
as  Meriel  put  her  hand  in  his.  He  saw  that  his  existence 
was  momentarily  obliterated  from  the  girl's  mind.  But 
he  did  not  move  from  her  side,  and  when,  still  forgetful, 
she  strolled  away  with  Guy  across  the  lawn  without  even 
turning  her  head  in  his  direction,  he  muttered  a  curse  in 
which  Guy  was  included  amongst  things  in  general,  but 
from  which  Meriel  herself  was  just  as  certainly  excluded. 

No  sooner  were  they  out  of  hearing  than  Guy  gave 
expression  to  the  curiosity  which  the  sight  of  Flurscheim 
in  conversation  with  Meriel  had  excited  in  him. 

"  However  did  that  bounder  Flurscheim  manage  to 
corner  you,  Miss  Challys  ?  "  he  asked. 

Meriel  glanced  round.     "  Oh !  I  had  quite  forgotten 


no  THE   MASTER   CRIMINAL 

him,"  she  said  laughing,  "  although  I  was  wondering 
how  I  should  manage  to  escape  him  when  I  saw  you." 

"  After  staring  at  you  the  other  night  in  so  impertinent 
a  manner  I  wonder  he  had  the  cheek  to  face  you,"  con- 
tinued Guy  irritably. 

"Oh!  he  explained  all  that,"  replied  Meriel.  "He 
sought  me  out  to-day  in  order  to  apologise."  She  told 
how  the  connoisseur  had  been  puzzled  to  account  for  his 
familiarity  with  her  face  and  his  ultimate  recognition  of 
her  as  the  autotype  of  one  of  his  missing  miniatures. 

Guy  smiled  at  the  explanation.  He  realised  with  an 
exceptional  degree  of  pleasure  that  the  miniature  was 
now  in  his  own  possession.  He  had  long  ago  carefully 
removed  the  picture  from  the  lid  of  the  snuff-box  in 
which  it  had  been  set  and  had  reset  it  himself  in  a  simple 
gold  frame  with  a  circlet  of  brilliants.  It  was  his  by 
right  of  possession,  and  he  determined  that  it  should  re- 
main his.  Incidentally  the  information  Meriel  had  given 
him  that  she  had  been  the  object  of  Flurscheim's  scrutiny 
came  as  a  relief.  It  was  proof  that  he  himself  was  in  no 
way  suspected.  At  the  same  time  it  seemed  to  Guy  an 
added  impertinence  on  the  part  of  the  connoisseur  that 
he  should  have  sought  to  make  Meriel's  acquaintance.  It 
gave  him  pleasure  to  think  that  he  had  despoiled  the  Jew 
of  his  treasures.  He  would  have  liked  to  have  confided 
his  thoughts  to  the  girl  at  his  side.  He  was  almost  on 
the  point  of  doing  so  when  his  common  sense  bade  him 
pause.  She  would  not  understand.  She  was  not  tutored 
in  the  doctrine  of  the  rights  of  the  individual  to  possess 
everything  upon  which  he  may  lay  his  hand.  But  he 
could  not  resist  the  opportunity  which  seemed  to  offer 
to  open  her  eyes  to  some  of  his  own  beliefs.  If  he  pre- 


THE   FLURSCHEIM   ROBBERY  in 

sented  them  delicately  they  might  not  offend.  Crudely 
expressed,  he  knew  that  she  would  not  listen. 

"  Flurscheim  is  hardly  the  sort  of  person  who  de- 
serves to  possess  beautiful  things,"  he  hazarded. 

"  There  seems  something  incongruous  in  the  idea,"  she 
said  smiling  her  reply.  "  But  there  can  be  no  doubt  but 
that  he  has  a  very  real  love  for  them." 

"  Can't  believe  it,"  said  Guy  emphatically.  "  The  ca- 
pacity to  acquire  beautiful  things  and  the  capacity  to 
see  their  beauties  rarely  go  together." 

"  I  should  think  that  your  argument  would  rather  ap- 
ply to  the  burglar  who  stole  Mr.  Flurscheim's  valuables 
than  to  Mr.  Flurscheim,"  replied  Meriel  merrily. 

"  Not  necessarily,"  answered  Guy.  "  It  might  be  that 
the  person  in  whose  possession  they  are  now  is  far  more 
capable  of  appreciating  the  Greuze  or  of  the  minature 
which  he  declares  is  so  like  yourself,  than  he  is,  and  if 
such  should  happen  to  be  the  case  hasn't  the  present  pos- 
sessor as  much  right  as  Flurscheim  to  the  enjoyment  of 
them?" 

He  spoke  lightly  and  Meriel  replied  in  the  same  tone. 

"  Isn't  that  an  argument  which  might  apply  to  any- 
thing of  the  nature  of  personal  possessions  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Certainly,"  he  responded  quickly.  "  Is  the  man  or 
woman,  who  wants  a  thing,  to  go  without  it  when  some- 
body else  has  more  of  the  same  article  than  he  knows 
what  to  do  with?  Look  at  that  fat  old  woman  over 
there " — the  disrespectful  allusion  referred  to  the  ma- 
ternal relative  of  the  latest  American  addition  by  mar- 
riage to  the  list  of  British  peeresses — "  she's  so  loaded 
up  with  jewels  that  she  absolutely  clanks  as  she  walks. 
She  has  enough  on  her  to  satisfy  the  aspirations  of  a 


H2  THE    MASTER   CRIMINAL 

hundred  ordinary  women.  Why  should  she  have  all 
those  pretty  stones  and  trinkets  and  lots  of  other  women 
go  without  ? " 

"  She  certainly  is  wearing  far  too  much  jewellery  for 
a  garden  party,"  replied  Meriel,  her  eyes  twinkling. 

"  Yet  if  any  other  woman  were  to  relieve  her  of  even 
the  smallest  of  her  extraneous  adornments  the  mere  pos- 
session of  which  would  probably  give  her  far  more 
pleasure  than  it  does  to  the  present  possessor,  there's 
not  a  man  or  woman  here  who  would  not  cry  '  to  gaol 
with  the  thief/  "  said  Guy. 

Despite  his  intention,  Guy  had  warmed  to  the  argu- 
ment, and  he  awoke  a  corresponding  earnestness  in  his 
companion. 

"  I  don't  think  I  should,"  she  said  quietly.  "  I  should 
pity  her  too  much." 

"But  why?"  he  asked.  "She  would  merely  have 
shown  herself  to  have  the  courage  of  her  desires." 

Meriel  shook  her  head.  "  I  always  pity  people  who 
cannot  control  their  desires,  particularly  when  those  de- 
sires are  for  things  that  don't  belong  to  them." 

"  But,"  urged  Guy,  "  everyone  is  born  with  the  right 
to  enjoy.  That  fat  old  woman  has  long  ago  ceased  to 
find  enjoyment  in  many  of  her  trinkets.  Why  pity  any- 
one who  would  at  one  stroke  relieve  her  of  her  burden 
and  at  the  same  time  provide  themselves  with  a  new 
pleasure  ?  " 

Meriel  knitted  her  brows.  "  I'm  no  good  at  an  ethical 
argument,  Mr.  Hora,"  she  said.  "  And  I  am  quite  sure 
you  only  want  to  get  me  to  agree  with  you  so  that  you 
may  laugh  at  me  afterwards." 

"  No,"  he  answered.     "  I've  no  arrtere  pensee  of  the 


THE  FLURSCHEIM  ROBBERY     113 

sort  you  imagine.  I  know  you  would  think  it  wrong, 
the  majority  think  it  wrong  for  anyone  to  help  them- 
selves to  other  people's  things.  I  want  to  know  why." 

Meriel  looked  at  him  archly.  "  Suppose  I  were  to 
slip  behind  that  comfortable  old  lady  and  snip  off  that 
little  watch  all  studded  with  diamonds  from  her  chate- 
laine, what  would  you  think  of  me  ?  " 

"  I  wish  to  Heaven  you  would,"  he  answered. 

Meriel  laughed.  "  I  should  never  have  thought  that 
you  could  be  so  strongly  provoked  by  mere  ostentation." 

"  I  was  not  thinking  of  the  old  woman,"  he  answered. 
"  My  admiration  would  be  entirely  attributable  to  your 
pluck  in  defying  the  conventions." 

"But  afterwards?"  she  objected.  "You  could  never 
have  the  slightest  respect  for  me." 

"  On  the  contrary "  he  began. 

She  interrupted  him.  "  No,"  she  said.  "  You  would 
no  more  respect  me  than  I  could  you,  if,  for  instance, 
you  had  stolen  poor  Mr.  Flurscheim's  picture." 

He  was  taken  aback  by  the  apposite  allusion.  For  a 
second,  and  for  a  second  only,  he  imagined  that  there 
was  intention  in  her  selection  of  the  simile.  But  a  glance 
into  the  smiling  eyes  which  met  his  so  frankly  disabused 
his  mind  of  the  idea.  Clearly,  the  girl  never  thought 
that  he  could  possibly  have  engaged  in  such  an  adven- 
ture. She  had  not  the  slightest  idea  that  he  was  guilty 
— no,  that  was  the  wrong  word,  the  coward's  word,  no 
guilt  attached  to  his  actions — that  he  was  capable  of 
such  a  feat.  She  saw  that  he  was  disturbed  and  con- 
tinued gaily. 

"  Why,  even  the  supposition  of  such  a  thing  is  repug- 
nant to  you,  and  yet  you  ask  why  ?  " 


H4  THE    MASTER   CRIMINAL 

"  Even  suppose  that  the  idea  is  repugnant,"  he  replied, 
"  I  still  ask  why  it  is  so.  Reason  could  justify  the  ac- 
tion." 

"  For  reason  say  sophistry,"  she  answered  quickly. 
"  You  know  that  the  repugnance  of  the  thought  is  in- 
bred. It's  inherited.  We  can't  help  thinking  like  that 
because  the  knowledge  of  right  and  wrong  is  intuitive." 

"  A  woman's  answer,"  he  answered  lightly. 

"  A  man's  still  more,"  she  said  with  earnestness.  "  One 
might  possibly  forgive  a  woman's  theft.  We  are  the 
weaker  creatures  and  the  more  easily  swayed  by  our  de- 
sires. But  the  man  should  be  strong  enough  to  resist. 
No  man  worthy  the  name  could  stoop  to  dishonour  him- 
self in  so  petty  a  manner,  nor  could  he  have  aught  but 
contempt  for  the  woman  who  so  gave  way  to  her  covet- 
ousness.  No,  Mr.  Hora.  You  could  never  persuade  me 
that  you  could  have  an  atom  of  respect  for  me  if  1  were 
to  so  forget  my  principles  as  to  filch  any  one  of  the  over- 
jewelled  dowager's  trinkets?  Now,  would  you?" 

He  sought  refuge  from  the  direct  answer  in  a  side 
issue.  "  But  if  your  principles  were  such  that  you  hon- 
estly believed  that  the  good  lady  had  no  more  right  than 
yourself  to  her  jewels  and  that  only  the  fear  of  punish- 
ment restrained  you  from  taking  possession  of  them  ?  " 

Meriel  laughed  gaily.  "  I  cannot  even  conceive  such 
a  possibility,"  she  said.  "  It  seems  to  me  you  are 
preaching  anarchy,  and  I'm  not  the  least  little  bit  of  an 
anarchist." 

The  approach  of  a  third  person  interrupted  Guy's  re- 
ply. Looking  away  from  Meriel  he  saw  Captain  Mar- 
ven  standing  beside  him.  The  Captain  had  heard  his 
niece's  concluding  words  and  he  corroborated  them. 


THE  FLURSCHEIM  ROBBERY     115 

"  I  can  safely  swear  that  a  more  tyrannical  dictator  of 
law  and  order  than  Meriel  never  stepped  over  a  man's 
threshold.  You  must  accuse  her  of  something  else, 
Hora." 

Guy  laughed  and  the  subject  dropped.  But  the  con- 
versation had  made  an  impression  upon  him.  It  had 
destroyed,  though  at  the  time  he  did  not  recognise  the 
fact,  the  delight  he  had  felt  in  being  something  apart 
from  other  men,  the  exhilaration  of  being  in  conflict  with 
the  world.  The  obvious  scorn  which  the  girl  felt  for  the 
thief,  her  absolute  belief  that  the  idea  of  theft  was  as 
repugnant  to  him  as  it  was  to  herself,  were  deadly  blows 
to  the  philosophy  which  Lynton  Hora  fondly  imagined 
he  had  planted  so  deeply  as  to  be  ineradicable.  Guy 
felt  that  his  belief  was  crumbling.  He  knew  that  if  he 
were  to  be  true  to  the  man  he  knew  as  father  he  should 
forswear  the  bewitching  companionship  of  the  girl  who 
exercised  so  unsettling  an  influence  upon  him,  neverthe- 
less when  a  little  later  Captain  Marven  asked  him  to 
visit  them  at  their  country  home  when  the  season  was 
over,  he  accepted  eagerly. 


CHAPTER    XI 

GUY  FINDS  A   NEW   HOME 

IN  the  days  that  followed  the  conversation  between 
Guy  and  Meriel,  the  young  man's  disquiet  strengthened, 
though  he  hid  his  perturbation  successfully  enough  from 
the  eyes  of  his  daily  companions.  He  met  the  Marvens 
frequently,  for  he  could  not  resist  the  fascination  Meriel 
exercised  upon  him.  He  could  see  that  he  was  a  welcome 
visitor  at  the  Marvens'  house,  and  yet  every  time  he  ac- 
cepted their  hospitality  he  felt  a  twinge  of  regret  that 
Capain  Marven  should  have  been  a  victim  of  his  preda- 
tory philosophy,  even  though  the  victim  had  not  been 
personally  injured  thereby.  Instinctively  he  loathed  him- 
self for  the  treacherous  part  he  appeared  to  be  playing, 
even  though  he  argued  that  he  had  but  played  a  man's 
part  in  avenging  his  father's  wrongs. 

He  would  have  felt  more  satisfied  if  he  could  have 
been  made  acquainted  with  the  nature  of  those  wrongs. 
But  when  he  had  ventured  a  question  on  the  subject 
Lynton  Hora's  brow  had  wrinkled  into  a  heavy  frown, 
and  he  had  harshly  bidden  Guy  to  refer  no  more  to  the 
subject.  Nor  could  he  gain  the  least  enlightenment  from 
Meriel,  though  he  had  discreetly  questioned  her  regard- 
ing her  uncle's  early  life.  No  suspicion  as  to  his  real 
parentage  ever  crossed  his  mind.  Meriel  had  merely  re- 
ferred to  the  great  grief  of  her  relatives'  lives  in  terms 
which  had  produced  in  Guy's  mind  the  idea  that  their 

116 


GUY    FINDS   A   NEW   HOME  117 

only  child  had  died  in  infancy.  "  Poor  auntie  and  uncle 
lost  their  only  child  when  he  was  three  years  old,"  she 
had  said,  "  and  even  now  no  one  ever  dares  mention 
his  name  in  their  presence,  they  feel  the  loss  so  acutely. 
His  name  was  Guy,  like  yours,  and  I  think  that  is  partly 
why  they  seem  to  like  you  so  much." 

From  his  acquaintance  with  Captain  Marven,  Guy 
could  not  conceive  that  the  kindly  hearted  man  had  ever 
done  anyone  a  deliberate  injury.  He  began  to  question 
the  possibility  of  Hora  being-  possessed  of  some  delusion 
on  the  subject  and  longed  the  more  to  be  acquainted 
with  the  facts  in  order  that  he  might  be  in  a  position  to 
put  the  misunderstanding  right.  Since  that  was  hope- 
less, however,  he  was  profoundly  thankful  that  Hora 
had  insisted  upon  his  taking  a  residence  apart.  He  had 
found  chambers  which  suited  him  in  the  "  Albany,"  and 
there  he  was  free  to  brood  over  his  own  mental  prob- 
lems without  the  possibility  of  having  to  meet  Lynton 
Hora's  enquiring  glance.  He  no  longer  felt  satisfied 
with  his  tutor's  philosophy.  He  was  almost  afraid  to 
lay  bare  his  new-born  doubts  to  the  scorn  which  the 
Commandatore  would  pour  upon  his  heart-searchings. 
He  imagined  that  the  Commandatore  had  no  idea  that 
any  conflict  was  taking  place  in  his  mind.  He  flattered 
himself  that  he  had  long  since  obtained  complete  mas- 
tery over  the  expression  of  his  thoughts,  that  his  face 
was  no  dial  of  his  emotions  but  a  mask  for  their  con- 
cealment. But  he  did  less  than  justice  to  his  master's 
perceptive  powers.  He  was  not  conscious  that  it  needed 
an  effort  to  remain  in  the  company  of  the  Commandatore, 
but  Lynton  Hora  perceived  it,  and  realising  that  Guy 
was  concealing  something  from  him  determined  to  be- 


n8  THE   MASTER   CRIMINAL 

come  acquainted  with  the  details  of  the  matter  con- 
cealed. He  had  not  lost  confidence  in  Guy.  He  did  not 
imagine  that  the  truth  of  principles  he  had  so  carefully 
instilled  was  likely  to  be  questioned.  But  Captain  Mar- 
ven  was  so  associated  with  the  black  days,  marked  in- 
delibly in  his  life's  calendar,  that  he  could  not  feel  easy 
in  his  mind  now  that  he  had  once  more  crossed  his  path. 
Besides,  for  the  consummation  of  the  revenge  he  was 
planning,  it  was  imperative  that  no  nook  or  corner  of 
Guy's  life  should  be  veiled  from  his  sight.  That  was 
the  real  reason  why  he  had  suggested  Guy's  finding  an 
abode  for  himself.  He  desired  to  be  made  acquainted 
with  Guy's  movements,  the  houses  he  visited  and  the 
companions  he  affected  when  away  from  home.  It  would 
have  been  difficult  to  set  such  a  watch  on  Guy,  if  he 
had  remained  at  the  flat  in  Westminster,  without  sub- 
jecting himself  to  inconvenience;  but  installed  in  cham- 
bers of  his  own,  it  would  be  easy  to  obtain  information. 
Hora's  first  intention  had  been  to  keep  watch  himself 
on  Guy's  movements,  but  consideration  decided  him  to 
employ  some  tool  for  the  purpose.  His  thoughts  had 
lingered  for  a  moment  on  Myra,  but  that  suggestion  also 
was  speedily  put  aside;  she  was  too  passionately  inter- 
ested in  Guy  to  prove  a  trustworthy  spy  upon  his  ac- 
tions. Hora  knew  where  to  look  for  a  reliable  tool,  for, 
secretive  though  he  was,  averse  to  allowing  any  outsider 
to  co-operate  with  him  in  the  execution  of  any  of  his 
enterprises,  yet  he  had  kept  in  touch  with  certain  of  the 
companions  who  had  worked  beside  him,  groaned  under 
the  same  harsh  discipline,  in  the  days  of  his  expiation. 
None  of  them  knew  him  by  name.  But  his  face  was 
known  to  them,  and  welcomed,  for  he  never  appeared 


GUY   FINDS   A   NEW   HOME  119 

amongst  them  without  bringing  largesse  for  their  de- 
bauches, and,  more  welcome  still,  suggestions  of  places 
where  booty  awaited  the  skilful  craftsman  with  bold 
heart,  and  wise  words  of  advice  as  to  the  means  by 
which  it  might  be  acquired.  These  denizens  of  the  lower 
world  guessed  that  their  unknown  benefactor  was  of 
themselves,  though  moving  on  a  higher  plane.  The  sug- 
gestions he  made  were  invariably  audacious,  but  when 
put  into  practice  they  almost  as  invariably  proved  suc- 
cessful, so  that  the  unknown  became  known  amongst 
them  as  the  Master. 

Guy  had  not  been  settled  in  his  new  abode  for  more 
than  three  days  when  Hora  set  out  in  search  of  someone 
who  would  undertake  the  business.  He  took  all  his 
usual  precautions  in  order  to  avoid  identification,  though 
he  relied  more  upon  the  assumption  of  a  new  character 
than  upon  any  physical  disguise.  He  entered  a  train 
which  carried  him  away  to  London's  most  beautiful  pos- 
session, the  Royal  Gardens  of  Kew.  He  entered  the 
gates  a  bright,  alert  personality.  He  had  an  appreciative 
eye  for  the  beauties  of  the  trees  and  the  flowers,  but  he 
did  not  linger  amongst  them,  seeking  a  retired  spot 
amongst  the  trees  in  the  wild  portion  of  the  demesne. 
When  half  an  hour  later  he  retraced  his  steps  nothing 
but  the  curious  limp  in  his  gait  would  have  hinted  at  his 
identity.  The  overcoat  which  he  had  carried  on  his  arm 
was  now  worn  on  his  back.  Its  threadbare  seams  and 
worn  cuffs  were  an  eloquent  testimony  of  poverty.  The 
sprucely  folded  umbrella  had  become  baggy,  and  instead 
of  carrying  it  on  his  arm  he  leaned  heavily  upon  it.  A 
pair  of  steel  spectacles  were  fixed  upon  his  nose.  His 
hat  had  been  exchanged  for  another  much  the  worse  for 


120  THE    MASTER   CRIMINAL 

wear.  His  collar  had  been  replaced  by  one  of  clerical 
cut.  A  Bible,  much  worn,  was  under  his  arm.  He  looked 
like  a  mild,  inoffensive  clergyman  who  had  fallen  upon 
evil  days,  or  a  curate  who  had  never  fallen  upon  good 
ones,  and  anyone  who  spared  him  a  single  glance  would 
have  been  ready  to  stake  a  good  round  sum  that  the  con- 
tents of  the  bag  he  carried  consisted  mainly  of  tracts. 
Returning  to  the  railway  station  he  asked  in  the  mildest 
of  voices  for  a  ticket  to  Latimer  Road,  and  bungled  over 
counting  the  change  while  the  people  waiting  behind  him 
impatiently  snorted  at  his  clumsiness. 

"  I'm  sure  I  beg  your  pardon  for  detaining  you,"  he 
said  when  the  coppers  were  safely  put  away  in  a  shabby 
old  purse.  He  was  always  authentic  in  his  impersona- 
tions. 

No  one  took  the  slightest  heed  of  him  when  he 
reached  the  station  to  which  he  had  booked,  and,  alight- 
ing, set  his  face  in  the  direction  of  Netting  Dale.  He 
walked  steadily  on,  turning  now  to  the  left  now  to  the 
right  again.  Each  street  he  entered  seemed  to  worsen 
in  some  indefinable  manner.  The  main  road  into  which 
he  had  passed  from  the  station  had  been  merely  one  of 
London's  characterless  thoroughfares,  with  rows  of 
struggling  shops,  each  flaunting  the  banner  of  cheapness 
in  the  face  of  passers-by.  A  sign  of  a  poor  neighbour- 
hood this,  and  off  the  main  road  the  signs  were  more 
pronounced.  The  open  doors,  the  women  sitting  at  open 
windows,  the  babies  on  the  stairs  and  the  pavements,  the 
voice  of  the  coal  hawker,  were  all  unmistakable  signs. 
Presently  the  dress  of  the  women  became  more  blowsy, 
the  children  dirtier,  men  were  to  be  seen  lolling  from 
the  windows  and  gathered  in  groups  outside  the  doors 


GUY   FINDS   A   NEW   HOME  121 

of  the  public  houses;  when  policemen  were  to  be  seen 
at  all,  they  were  in  couples.  Hora's  face  wore  an  air  of 
positive  benevolence.  A  boy  of  five  or  six  years  ran  be- 
side him  with  outstretched  hand. 

"  Spare  us  a  copper,  guvnor  ?  "  he  asked. 

Hora  paused.  "  I  have  no  coppers  to  spare,  my  child," 
he  remarked. 

"  I  ain't  had  no  breakfus,"  said  the  child. 

Hora's  eyes  twinkled. 

"  I'm  afraid  you  are  not  speaking  the  truth,  my  boy," 
he  remarked  blandly.  "  Still " — he  opened  his  bag  care- 
fully and  extracted  therefrom  a  packet  of  sticky  sweets 
and  a  bundle  of  tracts.  "  I  don't  expect  you  get  many 
sweeties.  Hold  out  your  hand." 

The  youngster  did  as  he  was  bidden.  Hora  counted 
four  sugary  lumps  into  the  eager  palm.  "  Never  tell  a 
lie,  my  boy,"  he  said  solemnly. 

The  child  seemed  unimpressed.  "I  say,  is  that  all, 
guvnor?  "  he  asked  as  Hora  replaced  the  paper  of  sweets 
in  his  bag. 

The  incident  had  not  passed  unobserved.  From  a 
doorway  close  at  hand  a  bullet-headed  man,  whose 
cranial  outline  was  the  more  strongly  marked  because 
of  the  closely  cropped  hair,  was  looking  on  with  a  grin 
on  his  countenance,  while  across  the  road  a  couple  of 
policemen  were  also  watching.  The  bullet-headed  per- 
son spoke  suddenly. 

"  You  run  away  and  stop  worriting  the  good  gen'1'man," 
he  said. 

The  boy  looked  up,  caught  sight  of  the  policemen, 
and  whirling  on  his  heels  disappeared  like  a  rabbit  into 
its  burrow. 


122  THE   MASTER   CRIMINAL 

"  The  very  kids  in  this  street  learn  to  tell  the  tale  afore 
they  can  walk,"  remarked  the  round-head  pleasantly. 

"  I'm  afraid  it's  a  very  wicked  street,"  said  Hora  with 
a  sigh.  "  The  devil  has  many  disciples  in  Fancy  Lane." 

"  Guess  you're  right  there,  guvnor,"  replied  the  man. 
"  There's  two  on  'em  comin'  across  the  road  to  talk  to 
you  now."  There  was  a  shadow  of  a  wink  in  his  eye. 

"  Let  me  hope  you  will  have  nothing  to  do  with  them," 
said  Hora  earnestly,  "  any  more  than  I  should  myself. 
You  must  know  where  companionship  of  that  sort  leads." 

"  I  know  that  right  enough,"  said  the  man  passing  his 
hand  over  his  closely  cropped  hair.  "  I  don't  have  no 
more  truck  with  that  sort  than  I  can  help." 

Hora  reopened  his  bag  and  took  from  it  a  tract. 

"You  may  find  some  helpful  words  here,"  he  said. 
"  This  little  story  is  called  '  The  Downward  Path.'  Take 
it  and  it  may  prove  a  blessing  to  you." 

He  turned  away,  and,  for  the  first  time,  appeared  to 
become  aware  of  the  presence  of  the  two  policemen. 

"  I  am  afraid  that  I  did  not  rightly  apprehend  that 
good  man's  meaning,"  he  said  aloud  as  if  talking  to  him- 
self. 

One  of  the  policemen  looked  down  upon  the  bent 
figure. 

"  Beg  pardon,  sir,"  he  said,  "  I  just  wanted  to  make 
sure  it  was  you,  because  this  street,  as  you  know,  isn't  too 
safe  for  strangers." 

"  Thank  you,  my  friend,"  replied  Hora.  "  But  you 
know  that  I  am  as  safe  here  as  at  my  own  home."  The 
policemen  passed  on. 

"  There  won't  come  no  harm  to  him,"  said  the  elder  to 
his  companion.  "  They  knows  he's  a  harmless  old  crank, 


GUY   FINDS   A   NEW   HOME  123 

an'  they  chy-ikes  him  a  bit  for  comin'  to  convert  'em 
with  a  packet  of  tracts  for  the  men  and  a  packet  of 
sweets  for  the  kids,  but  he's  safe  enough,  for  he  never 
has  anything  about  him  to  make  it  worth  while  anyone 
knocking  him  on  the  head." 

"  He  comes  pretty  reg'lar,  I  suppose  then  ?  "  asked  the 
second  constable.  "  I've  not  seen  him  before." 

"  Three  or  four  times  a  year,  may  be.  There's  plenty 
knows  him  in  the  street." 

They  passed  out  of  sight  and  Hora  went  on  his  way, 
stopping  now  and  then  to  speak  to  a  man  or  a  woman  or 
to  bestow  a  sweet  on  some  urchin  in  the  gutter.  So, 
progressing  slowly,  he  reached  an  archway  which  had 
once  formed  an  entrance  to  a  builder's  yard.  He  passed 
beneath  it  and  crossed  the  open  space  to  a  shed  which 
stood  at  the  far  end.  The  ground  was  littered  with  rub- 
bish of  all  sorts,  dirty  wisps  of  straw,  dirty  pieces  of 
newspaper,  rotting  cabbage  stalks  and  decomposing  re- 
mains of  fish.  Reaching  the  shed  he  gave  no  knock  but 
pushed  the  door  open  and  entered.  Outside,  the  July 
sun  was  shining  brightly  and  within  the  darkness  was 
so  dense  that  he  stood  still  until  his  eyes  grew  accustomed 
to  it.  The  shed  was  provided  with  one  small  window, 
but  three  of  its  four  panes  were  glazed  with  brown 
paper  and  the  remaining  pane  of  glass  was  so  begrimed 
that  only  a  feeble  light  forced  entrance  through  it. 

While  he  stood  in  the  doorway  striving  to  penetrate 
the  gloom  a  human  voice,  though  it  was  so  far  unlike 
the  ordinary  human  voice  that  it  might  have  belonged  to 
any  creature  but  one  made  in  God's  image,  began  to 
mutter  and  gurgle  in  the  darkest  corner. 

"  Ma  Norton  ?  "  asked  Hora. 


124  THE   MASTER   CRIMINAL 

The  answer  came  like  a  wheeze  of  a  dropsical  spider. 

"  Get  out  of  this.  I  don't  want  no  ant'em  cacklers 
round  my  place." 

By  this  time  Hora's  vision  had  grown  accustomed  to 
the  semi-darkness.  He  took  off  his  hat  and  laid  it  on 
the  table.  He  saw  that  but  for  one  old  woman  seated  in 
a  corner  there  was  no  one  else  present.  "  Your  eyesight's 
failing,  Ma,"  he  remarked  composedly.  The  old  woman 
struggled  to  her  feet.  "  Blimy !  If  it  ain't  the  Master 
hisself,"  she  wheezed.  "  What's  brought  you  down  here 
again  so  soon?" 

"  What  else  should  but  the  desire  to  see  you  a  re- 
formed character,  the  desire  to  read  the  Bible  to  you, 
pray  with  you  with  the  object  of  ending  your  days  in  the 
workhouse  like  a  decent  Christian  woman.  Ha — ha — 
ha !  "  He  laughed  at  his  own  ribaldry. 

"  He !  He !  He !  "  the  old  woman  cackled  in  response. 
Her  pallid,  pendulous,  flabby  cheeks  flapped  as  she  shook 
with  merriment.  Her  enormous  frame,  held  loosely 
together  about  the  waist  and  shoulders  with  untidy  tapes, 
threatened  to  collapse  like  a  half-cooled  jelly  shaken  too 
soon  from  the  mould.  The  tears  started  from  her  eyes 
and  ran  down  her  cheeks.  She  gasped  and  choked  until 
reaching  for  a  bottle  standing  handily  on  a  shelf  she 
poured  something  from  it  into  a  tumbler  standing  by 
and  tossed  off  the  draught. 

"  That's  better,"  she  remarked.  "  You  shouldn't  make 
me  laugh,  Master.  Laughing  shakes  me  so  that  I'm 
afraid  it'll  be  the  death  of  me  some  day." 

"  No  fear,"  answered  Hora.  "  You  will  finish  your- 
self off  with  the  gin  bottle  first." 

"  Lord !  What  a  man  it  is  for  making  game  of  an  old 


GUY   FINDS   A   NEW   HOME  125 

woman's  little  weakness,"  she  replied  composedly.  "  But 
what's  brought  you  here  to-day  out  of  your  time?  Noth- 
in's  happened  to  my  gal,  has  there  ?  " 

"  Getting  anxious  to  have  her  home  again?  "  remarked 
Hora  sardonically.  "  I'm  not  sure  that  she  would  ap- 
preciate the  home  you  could  give  her." 

He  looked  round  him  and  smiled  at  the  thought  of 
Myra  transported  into  such  surroundings.  The  bare 
walls  of  the  shed  with  the  plaster  broken  and  crumbling 
away;  the  filthy  floor  with  a  grimy  sack  thrown  before 
the  fenderless  fireplace  to  do  service  as  rug;  the  two 
stained  deal  tables  littered  with  old  articles  of  crockery, 
remnants  of  food,  articles  of  attire,  all  mixed  up  to- 
gether; the  broken  chairs;  the  grubby  bed  and  bedding 
in  the  corner,  would  make  a  strange  setting  for  the  ex- 
otic beauty  who  at  that  very  moment  would  probably 
be  stepping  from  her  perfumed  bath  to  don  a  dainty 
dressing  gown  before  submitting  to  the  ministrations  of 
her  maid. 

The  old  woman  watched  his  glance  distrustfully. 
"You  ain't  thinking  of  turning  her  out,  Master?"  she 
whined.  "  I  know  very  well  she's  well  off  where  she 
is,  an'  you  know  this  ain't  no  place  for  the  likes  of 
her." 

"  I  might  bring  her  here  to  see  you  one  day.  I'm  sure 
she  would  be  glad  to  see  her  mother,"  he  remarked. 

The  woman  rose  again  from  the  chair.  She  spoke  with 
ill-concealed  agitation. 

"  Don't  you  go  for  to  do  it,  Master.  Don't  you  do  it. 
I'm  quite  satisfied  so  long  as  I  knows  she's  all  right. 
There  ain't  no  call  for  her  to  set  eyes  on  the  likes  of  me. 
Why,  it  might  happen  that  she  would  sick  at  the  sight." 


126  THE   MASTER   CRIMINAL 

Her  voice  died  away  and  she  repeated  dully,  "  Don't  you 
go  for  to  do  it !  " 

"  I  don't  think  she  would  be  exactly  pleased,"  re- 
marked Hora.  "  But  make  you  mind  easy,  Ma.  It's 
nothing  to  do  with  Myra  that  I  want  to  see  you  about 
You  hear  a  lot  of  things  in  this  part  of  the  world,  and 
I  wondered  whether  by  any  chance  you  have  heard 
lately  of  Corny  Jessel.  I  have  a  job  for  him." 

The  old  woman  reseated  herself  and  helped  herself 
thoughtfully  to  another  allowance  of  gin.  "  When  did 
I  last  hear  tell  of  him  ?  "  she  murmured.  "  Not  so  long 
ago,  for  certain.  The  shadder-man,  you  mean,  ain't  it, 
Master?  Corny  Jessel,  the  shadder-man?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Hora.    "  The  shadow-man." 

"  My  memory  ain't  what  it  was,"  said  the  old  woman 
disconsolately,  "  but  I'm  sure  I  heard  about  him  only  the 
other  day." 

Hora  lit  a  cigarette  and  smoked  calmly  while  the 
woman  racked  her  memory.  At  last  he  was  rewarded 
for  his  patience. 

"  It  was  Bully  Hagan  telled  me  he'd  seen  him  only  the 
other  day." 

"  The  round-headed  man  who's  just  come  out  of 
prison?"  asked  Hora. 

"  Lives  at  27  in  the  Street,  first  floor  front,"  said  the 
woman. 

"  I  met  him  on  my  way  here,"  said  Hora.  "  I'll  go 
and  find  him."  He  rose  to  go. 

"  You  haven't  told  me  how  my  gal's  lookin',"  said  the 
woman. 

Hora  laughed,  but  he  good  naturedly  complied  with 
the  request,  and  for  five  minutes  poured  into  the  greedy 


GUY   FINDS   A   NEW   HOME  127 

ears  of  the  woman  a  description  of  the  dresses  and  the 
jewels  her  daughter  wore  at  the  theatres  and  dinners 
and  dances  to  which  she  had  recently  been.  Then  he 
took  his  departure,  leaving  behind  him  a  couple  of  gold 
pieces  in  the  old  woman's  palm.  In  the  street  he  re- 
sumed his  missionary  demeanour  and  passing  along  from 
house  to  house  found  Bully  Hagan  at  the  same  spot 
where  he  had  parted  from  him,  and  in  exchange  for  an- 
other piece  of  gold  was  soon  put  in  possession  of  the  ad- 
dress he  sought.  He  wrote  it  down  on  a  piece  of  paper. 

Cornelius  Jessel,  Woodbine  Cottage,  Melpomene  Road, 
Wimbledon. 

And,  resuming  his  progress,  came  at  last  to  the  more 
respectable  streets  and  finally  to  the  railway  station  again. 


CHAPTER   XII 
INSPECTOR  KENLY'S  LODGER 

ONE  day  at  the  beginning  of  July  Detective  Inspector 
Kenly's  face  as  he  left  the  railway  station  and  stepped 
out  briskly  homewards  wore  a  particularly  injured  air. 
It  was  not  entirely  owing  to  the  sultry  state  of  the  at- 
mosphere, though  that  may  have  had  something  to  do 
with  his  frame  of  mind.  He  considered  himself  to  be  a 
greatly  aggrieved  man.  In  the  first  place  his  investiga- 
tions into  the  Flurscheim  burglary  had  been  an  abject 
and  total  failure.  He  had  spent  day  and  night  following 
up  illusory  clues  without  the  slightest  result.  On  top  of 
this  he  had  been  entrusted  with  the  investigation  of  the 
stolen  despatch  affair,  and  after  three  days'  laborious 
enquiry  found  himself  no  nearer  any  accurate  result  than 
he  had  been  when  he  commenced,  save  that  certain  names 
on  the  list  of  members  of  the  Stock  Exchange  had  been 
ticked  off  as  unable  to  afford  any  information.  These 
failures  he  might  have  borne  with  equanimity  had  they 
been  his  sole  grievance.  But  he  had  another,  and  being 
a  purely  personal,  private,  domestic  grievance,  it  rankled 
far  more  than  any  of  the  others. 

Detective  Inspector  Kenly  was  a  married  man,  and 
when  Mrs.  Detective  Inspector  determined  to  have  her 
own  way,  Mr.  Detective  Inspector,  however  clever  he 
was  at  circumventing  the  wiliest  of  criminals,  invariably 
succumbed  to  the  wiles  of  the  smiling  lady  who  ruled 
over  his  household.  Happily  any  difference  between 

128 


INSPECTOR   KENLY'S   LODGER          129 

them  was  rare,  but  there  was  one  subject  upon  which  they 
never  could  agree.  The  Inspector  liked  to  keep  his  home 
to  himself.  He  thought  that  his  good  lady  had  quite: 
enough  to  do  to  look  after  himself  and  the  two  little 
Kenlys.  But  that  was  not  Mrs.  Kenly's  opinion  at  all. 
She  thought  that  no  home  was  complete  without  a  lodger. 
To  her  such  a  thing  as  a  spare  bedroom  in  her  house  was 
an  abomination.  She  looked  upon  it  as  so  much  capital 
lying  idle,  instead  of  being  put  out  at  interest  with  some 
eligible  young  man  or  young  woman.  When  he  had 
taken  Woodbine  Cottage,  Melpomene  Road,  Wimbledon, 
Kenly  had  thought  that  he  should  have  circumvented 
Mrs.  Kenly's  little  idiosyncrasy.  But  there  were  two 
attics  in  the  cottage  which  had  not  entered  into  his  cal- 
culations. It  did  not  occur  to  him  that  they  could  be 
utilised  for  any  other  purpose  than  as  box-rooms.  But 
Mrs.  Kenly  thought  differently.  In  her  eyes  they  would 
make  quite  adequate,  if  small,  bedrooms,  so  before  he 
had  been  settled  in  the  house  for  a  month,  all  the  Inspec- 
tor's arrangements  were  recast,  the  youthful  Kenlys  were 
relegated  to  the  attics,  while  the  largest  bedroom  on  the 
first  floor  was  furnished  as  a  bed  sitting-room  and  a  card 
placed  in  the  window  announced  to  all  and  sundry  that 
"  furnished  apartments  "  were  to  be  secured  at  Woodbine 
Cottage. 

The  card  did  not  remain  there  very  long.  Woodbine 
Cottage  looked  so  spick  and  span;  the  bright  windows, 
the  white  curtains,  the  spotless  doorstep,  and  shining 
brass  knocker  were  such  attractive  testimonials  to  the 
quality  of  the  accommodation  to  be  found  within,  that 
the  eligible  lodger  was  speedily  secured.  For  six  years 
Inspector  Kenly  entertained  a  single  lady  of  mature  years 


I3o  THE  MASTER   CRIMINAL 

and  a  small  income.  He  did  not  repine  overmuch,  for 
she  had  few  friends,  gave  little  trouble,  and  was  more  or 
less  of  a  companion  to  Mrs.  Kenly  when  his  business,  as 
it  often  did,  took  him  away  from  home. 

But,  when  she  left,  Inspector  Kenly  made  another  ef- 
fort to  persuade  his  wife  to  do  without  "  the  lodger." 
In  vain  he  argued  that  his  income  was  ample  for  the 
wants  of  the  household.  Mrs.  Kenly  would  not  listen. 
Once  again  the  card  appeared  in  the  window,  and  in  due 
course  Cornelius  Jessel,  passing  by,  saw  it  there,  and, 
being  at  the  time  in  want  of  a  quiet  retreat  in  a  really 
respectable  neighbourhood,  thought  that  the  apartments, 
if  not  too  expensive,  would  suit  him.  He  saw  the  bed 
sitting-room.  He  liked  its  appearance  so  well  that  he 
paid  a  week's  rent  there  and  then  in  advance,  and  thus, 
when  Inspector  Kenly  returned  home  one  evening,  he 
found  that  he  was  once  more  possessed  of  a  lodger. 

Possibly,  if  Cornelius  Jessel  had  been  acquainted  with 
the  position  and  occupation  of  the  head  of  the  household 
into  which  he  had  entered,  he  might  not  have  been  so 
ready  to  take  possession  of  the  comfortable  bed  sitting- 
room.  But  Inspector  Kenly  did  not  think  it  desirable 
to  blazon  abroad  his  connection  with  Scotland  Yard. 
He  had  particularly  insisted  upon  any  lodger  who  en- 
tered his  house  remaining  unacquainted  with  his  profes- 
sion. So  Cornelius  Jessel  had  not  the  slightest  idea  that 
he  was  living  under  the  roof  of  one  of  the  men  whom  he 
had  long  ago  learned  to  look  upon  as  an  enemy.  Indeed, 
he  had  real  reasons  to  fear  the  emissaries  of  law  and  or- 
der. Not  that  he  was  by  any  means  a  person  of  impor- 
tance in  the  criminal  world.  He  was  merely  one  of  those 
backboneless  creatures  who  have  the  will  but  lack  the 


As  she  bent  over  him  a  sudden  mad  impulse  to  clasp  her  in 
his  arms  seized  him. — Page  242 


INSPECTOR   KENLY'S    LODGER          131 

courage  to  do  any  daring  deed  which  would  make  them 
famous  in  the  annals  of  crime ;  one  of  those  poor  shrink- 
ing, cringing  creatures  who  are  content  to  play  the  part 
of  jackal  to  more  venturesome  spirits,  a  petty  thief  some- 
times, an  astute  writer  of  begging  letters  at  others,  a 
deviser  of  petty  frauds  for  robbing  poor  people  of  a  few 
stamps  on  every  convenient  occasion. 

When  he  had  timidly  asked  to  be  shown  the  vacant 
apartments  in  Woodbine  Cottage,  Mrs.  Kenly  had  de- 
cided at  once  that  he  would  prove  amenable  to  any  rules 
and  regulations  she  might  like  to  impose  upon  him.  He 
agreed  with  such  a  deprecating  air  to  every  suggestion 
she  made  as  to  the  points  which  seemed  desirable  in  a 
well-conducted  lodger  that  her  heart  quite  warmed  to 
him.  He  thought  sixpence  a  scuttle  for  coals  "  most 
reasonable."  He  agreed  that  the  room  was  certainly 
worth  more  than  the  seven  and  sixpence  weekly  paid  in 
advance,  which  Mrs.  Kenly  demanded  for  rent  and  at- 
tendance. He  exhibited  the  liveliest  satisfaction  when 
Mrs.  Kenly  informed  him  that  beyond  a  shilling  a  week 
for  "  gas  "  she  charged  "  no  extras,"  and  came  to  a  most 
satisfactory  arrangement  regarding  the  meals  he  pro- 
posed to  take  at  home,  and  the  price  he  was  to  pay  for 
them.  Mrs.  Kenly  thought  in  her  own  mind  that  a  bache- 
lor was  much  more  profitable  than  a  maiden  of  mature 
years,  and  congratulated  herself  on  her  luck.  When  she 
further  learned  from  Cornelius  Jessel  that  he  was  en- 
gaged in  "  literary  pursuits,"  and  would  not  be  disturbed 
by  many  callers,  though  his  work  might  sometimes  keep 
him  in  the  house  all  day,  she  thought  she  was  indeed  in 
luck's  way,  and  was  fully  prepared  to  defend  her  action 
when  called  upon. 


132  THE   MASTER   CRIMINAL 

She  found  it  necessary  to  do  so  from  the  first.  In- 
spector Kenly  objected  most  strenuously  to  the  presence 
of  a  male  lodger  in  the  house.  He  objected  still  more 
when  he  had  made  the  acquaintance  of  his  new  tenant. 
He  disliked  Jessel's  appearance.  The  pale  hair,  pale 
complexion,  pale  watery  eyes  roused  his  antipathy.  He 
disliked  Jessel's  manner  still  more.  The  lodger  did  not 
walk  as  an  ordinary  man,  he  glided  from  place  to  place. 
He  glided  down  the  stairs  and  out  of  the  front  door,  and 
he  glided  in  again  and  up  the  stairs  so  that  no  one  ever 
knew  whether  he  was  in  or  out  of  the  house.  His  apolo-- 
getic  manner,  his  dislike  of  going  abroad  by  day,  his  ab- 
stemiousness, his  apparent  lack  of  acquaintances,  the 
very  decorum  of  his  habits  were  to  Inspector  Kenly  rea- 
sons for  suspicion.  The  Inspector  was  no  mean  judge 
of  men,  and  he  dubbed  Jessel  thief  at  sight.  "  Some  day 
we  shall  find  him  and  the  spoons  missing,"  he  said  to  his 
wife.  She  laughed  at  the  idea. 

"  Well,  if  that  should  happen,  I  shall  depend  upon  you 
to  recover  them  for  me,"  she  replied.  ^ 

She  did  not  believe  that  there  was  any  harm  in  the 
man.  But  the  Inspector  was  so  certain  in  his  own  mind 
that  he  spent  some  hours  searching  the  records  at  Scot- 
land Yard,  after  having  secured  some  of  his  tenant's 
finger  prints  by  a  trick.  The  search  was  quite  useless. 
There  was  no  record  against  him.  Hitherto  he  had  al- 
ways managed  to  evade  the  law. 

It  was  the  fact  that  he  had  been  unable  to  secure  the 
proof  he  desired  that  constituted  Inspector  Kenly's  third 
and  greatest  grievance.  Everything  seemed  to  be  going 
wrong  with  him.  He  had  been  so  certain  that  he  would 
be  able  to  provide  good  and  sufficient  reasons  to  his  wife 


INSPECTOR   KENLY'S   LODGER          133 

for  getting  rid  of  the  detested  lodger  that,  when  he  found 
that  he  was  unable  to  do  so,  he  began  to  doubt  whether 
his  instincts  were  playing  him  false. 

Thus  brooding  he  turned  into  Melpomene  Road.  Sev- 
eral yards  before  him  was  an  elderly  man  wearing  a 
clerical  collar  with  an  overcoat  threadbare  at  the  seams, 
a  little  black  bag  in  his  hand,  and  a  Bible  under  his  arm, 
and  slightly  dragging  one  foot  after  him  as  he  walked. 

"  Non-conformist  parson,"  commented  the  Inspector  to 
himself.  The  stranger  was  looking  each  side  of  him  as 
he  passed  up  the  street,  but,  on  reaching  Woodbine  Cot- 
tage he  paused,  lifted  the  latch  of  the  gate  and,  entering, 
made  his  way  to  the  front  door. 

"  A  visitor  for  the  lodger,"  commented  the  Inspector, 
and  he  passed  by  his  own  door  to  the  end  of  the  road. 
When  he  returned,  the  non-conformist  parson  had  disap- 
peared. The  Inspector  let  himself  quietly  into  the  house 
with  his  latchkey.  An  opportunity  was  afforded  him  of 
learning  something  concerning  the  lodger  which  he  de- 
termined not  to  neglect.  He  said  nothing  to  Mrs.  Kenly 
as  to  his  intention,  for  his  suspicion  that  the  tenant  of  the 
first  floor  front  was,  to  use  his  own  expressive  phrase, 
"  on  the  crook,"  might  not  prove  capable  of  demonstra- 
tion. He  merely  said  that  he  had  business  that  evening, 
and  could  only  remain  in  the  house  a  few  minutes.  So 
Mrs.  Kenly  popped  the  tea  in  the  teapot  forthwith,  dished 
up  the  haddock,  which  had  been  simmering  over  the  pan 
on  the  kitchen  fire,  and  directed  all  her  attention  to  sup- 
plying her  husband's  requirements.  While  thus  engaged 
the  lodger's  bell  rang,  but  she  paid  no  heed  to  the  sum- 
mons until  she  had  seen  that  the  Inspector's  needs  were 
all  provided  for. 


134  THE   MASTER   CRIMINAL 

"  I  expect  Mr.  Jessel  wants  a  cup  of  tea  for  his  visi- 
tor," she  remarked,  when  the  bell  tinkled  a  second  time. 

"So  he  has  begun  to  have  callers  at  last,  has  he?" 
remarked  the  Inspector. 

"  It's  the  first  time  since  he  come  to  live  with  us,  a 
month  ago  last  Tuesday,"  replied  Mrs.  Kenly,  "  and  a 
nice-spoken  old  clergyman,  too.  I  always  thought  as  he 
was  a  most  respectable  young  man,  and  now  I'm  sure  of 
it."  She  bustled  off  to  answer  the  bell,  in  the  absence  of 
the  youthful  maid  of  all  work,  who  had  been  sent  out 
with  the  two  young  Kenlys  to  picnic  on  the  Common. 

Inspector  Kenly  said  nothing.  When  Mrs.  Kenly  re- 
turned and  prepared  a  tray  with  two  cups  on  it,  he  chat- 
ted about  indifferent  things.  He  finished  his  tea  leisurely. 
"  I'll  just  have  a  rinse  before  I  go  out  again,"  he  re- 
marked to  his  wife.  He  closed  the  door  of  the  little  sit- 
ting-room behind  him,  and  mounted  the  stairs.  When 
occasion  required,  Inspector  Kenly,  in  spite  of  his  six 
feet  of  muscular  manhood,  could  be  as  light-footed  as 
any  cat,  and  not  a  stair  creaked  as  he  mounted  them  to 
his  own  bedroom,  the  door  of  which  was  opposite  that  of 
the  room  in  which  the  lodger  was  entertaining  his  guest. 
In  his  own  doorway  he  paused  and  listened.  He  could 
hear  a  murmur  of  voices,  that  was  all.  Stay!  His 
trained  ear  caught  the  sound  of  a  name  twice  repeated, 
"  Guy  Hora."  It  meant  nothing  to  him,  but  he  noted  it 
instinctively.  The  voices  dropped  to  a  murmur  again, 
and  the  Inspector  returned  downstairs,  and,  after  lighting 
his  pipe  and  telling  his  wife  that  he  did  not  expect  to  be 
very  late  home,  he  slipped  out  of  the  back  door  and  made 
his  way  leisurely  to  the  end  of  the  street. 

His  meal  had  put  him  in  a  much  more  contented  frame 


INSPECTOR   KENLY'S   LODGER          135 

of  mind,  and,  as  he  puffed  away  at  his  pipe,  he  smiled  at 
the  thought  that  he  should  be  engaged  in  keeping  ob- 
servation on  his  own  house.  It  reminded  him  of  his 
early  days  in  the  detective  force,  and  he  remembered  how 
often  he  had  waited  hours  without  anything  rewarding 
his  patience.  This  time  his  patience  was  not  severely 
tried.  He  had  not  finished  his  first  pipeful  of  tobacco 
when  his  lodger's  visitor  made  his  appearance,  and  pass- 
ing along  the  street  took  a  turning  which  led  to  the  near- 
est railway  station. 

Inspector  Kenly  walked  briskly  in  the  same  direction, 
but  by  another  route.  It  was  slightly  longer  than  the 
one  Lynton  Hora  had  taken,  but  Kenly  was  there  first. 
He  was  on  the  platform  before  Hora,  and  was  in  the 
guard's  brake  almost  as  soon  as  the  train  came  into  the 
platform.  He  observed  that  his  lodger's  visitor  carefully 
scanned  the  carriages  as  they  passed  him  and  entered  an 
empty  first-class  compartment.  "  Hard  up  parsons  don't 
usually  travel  first-class,"  commented  Inspector  Kenly  to 
himself. 

He  kept  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  door  of  that  compartment 
all  the  way  to  the  terminus,  but  it  remained  unopened 
until  Waterloo  was  reached.  There,  watching  more  keenly 
than  ever,  he  chuckled  at  his  own  acumen  when  his  ob- 
servation was  rewarded  by  the  sight  of  a  very  differently 
attired  person  to  the  shabbily  clad  old  clergyman,  who 
had  entered  the  compartment,  stepping  from  the  train. 
The  clerical  hat  and  collar  and  the  spectacles  had  disap- 
peared. The  shabby  overcoat  carried  on  Hora's  arm 
revealed  only  a  new  silk  lining  which  was  not  out  of  keep- 
ing with  the  smartly  cut  lounge  suit  Hora  was  wearing 
beneath.  His  stoop  abandoned,  he  seemed  three  or  four 


136  THE   MASTER   CRIMINAL 

inches  taller,  but  he  still  carried  his  bag,  and  Kenly  could 
not  have  mistaken  the  limp. 

The  detective  walked  briskly  along  the  platform  to  the 
exit  of  the  station,  giving  one  glance  at  Hera's  face  as 
he  passed  him.  Hora  was  signalling  a  cab  and  paid  no 
attention.  At  the  exit  the  detective  paused.  The  cab 
which  contained  the  man  he  was  following  drove  through 
the  gate,  and  he  heard  the  address  which  the  cabman 
shouted  to  the  clerk  in  the  cab  registry  office.  He  gained 
the  street,  and,  hailing  an  empty  cab  passing  at  the  mo- 
ment, gave  the  driver  an  address  two  doors  distant  from 
that  which  had  reached  his  ears.  A  block  in  the  traffic 
at  a  street  corner  enabled  him  to  catch  up  with  the  cab 
he  pursued.  Nor  did  he  again  lose  sight  of  it  until  Hora, 
alighting,  paid  the  man,  and  entered  his  own  residence. 

The  detective  looked  at  his  watch.  Seven  o'clock! 
There  was  plenty  of  time  before  him.  He  also  dismissed 
his  cabman,  and  strolled  along  to  the  building  which 
Hora  had  entered.  Unless  his  memory  was  at  fault  he 
guessed  that  he  would  have  very  little  difficulty  in  ob- 
taining all  the  information  he  desired.  He  knew  the 
block  of  mansions,  and  he  knew  that  a  year  or  two  pre- 
viously an  old  comrade  of  his  was  employed  there  in  the 
capacity  of  hall  porter.  His  memory  had  not  deceived 
him.  As  he  reached  the  door  his  old  comrade  opened 
it  to  allow  a  lady  to  pass.  Recognition  was  mutual.  In- 
spector Kenly  entered.  When  he  left  he  was  acquainted 
with  all  that  the  servants  in  Westminster  Mansions  knew 
of  Lynton  Hora's  household,  but  the  information  he  had 
gleaned  afforded  him  no  sort  of  a  hint  as  to  the  nature 
of  the  connection  which  existed  between  him  and  Cor- 
nelius Jessel,  the  detective's  literary  lodger. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

POISONED    WORDS 

A  HUNDRED  times  a  day  Myra  told  herself  that  she 
would  forget  Guy,  that  she  would  tear  every  tender  mem- 
ory of  him  from  her  heart,  and  a  hundred  times  a  day 
her  heart  cried  out  passionately  that  forgetfulness  were 
impossible,  since  every  time  she  saw  him  her  hunger  for 
his  love  grew  fiercer.  There  came  a  day  when  she  real- 
ised that  it  was  impossible  to  persuade  herself  that  she 
might  ever  forget,  and,  when  she  thus  surrendered  her- 
self to  the  bitter-sweet  reflection  of  the  folly  of  bestow- 
ing a  love  which  was  unreturned,  she  realised  also  that 
certainly  and  surely  Guy  was  drifting  further  away  from 
her. 

If  he  had  remained  under  the  same  roof,  she  would 
have  been  content  for  the  relationship  of  brother  and 
sister  to  endure,  but,  when  she  could  no  longer  watch 
over  his  outgoings  and  incomings,  she  became  possessed 
of  a  devouring  desire  to  know  how  and  where  he  spent 
his  time.  With  a  woman's  intuition  she  guessed  that  he 
could  not  remain  fancy  free.  He  was  not  that  type  of 
man.  She  knew  that  to  him  the  feminine  complement 
would  inevitably  be  sought  and  found.  She  had  thought 
that  he  might  have  found  that  complement  in  her.  When 
Hora  had  told  her  that  she  had  been  too  near  Guy,  she 
had  trusted  his  knowledge  of  the  world,  but  after  Guy 
had  been  living  away  from  them  for  a  month,  and  he  had 


138  THE   MASTER   CRIMINAL 

shown  no  alteration  in  his  demeanour,  she  told  herself 
that  Hora  had  merely  lied  to  her  to  prevent  her  pro- 
testing against  a  plan  which  was  to  place  Guy  out  of  her 
reach.  She  thought  she  saw  that  plan  maturing  as  the 
weeks  passed  and  Guy's  visits  became  fewer  and  fewer. 
Hora  did  not  apparently  mind  when  he  only  came  in  for 
a  brief  half-hour  in  the  morning  during  a  whole  week, 
and  made  that  visit  merely  to  announce  that  he  was  go- 
ing out  of  town  on  the  following  day,  and  was  uncertain 
when  he  would  return. 

Myra  remembered  that  six  months  previously  he  would 
have  acted  very  differently.  Then  any  plan  formulating 
in  his  mind  would  have  been  discussed  between  all  of 
them,  then  she  would  have  known  where  he  was  going, 
and  when  he  might  be  expected  to  return. 

She  did  Lynton  Hora  an  injustice.  He  was  in  reality 
as  much  perturbed  as  herself  at  the  alteration  in  Guy's 
demeanour.  But  he  could  await  the  explanation  with 
more  equanimity,  since  he  had  taken  steps  to  discover 
the  reason.  He  did  not  for  a  moment  suppose  that  Guy's 
opinions  were  undergoing  any  change.  Even,  as  Myra, 
he  suspected  a  feminine  reason  for  Guy's  reserve  on  the 
subject  of  his  movements.  He  did  not  attempt  to  force 
a  confidence  from  the  young  man ;  he  was  far  too  astute. 
He  had  no  belief  in  confidences  that  were  not  volunteered. 

Guy  was  glad  that  he  had  not  been  asked  for  an  ex- 
planation as  to  his  movements.  He  felt  ashamed  that  he 
could  have  accepted  an  invitation  to  the  house  of  his 
supposed  father's  enemy.  Yet  he  could  not  have  re- 
sisted the  opportunity  which  would  be  afforded  him  of 
spending  whole  days  in  the  sweet  companionship  of 
Meriel  Challys.  So,  after  his  acceptation  of  the  invita- 


POISONED   WORDS  139 

tion  given  him  he  had  stayed  away  from  Westminster 
Mansions.  He  had  not  thought  of  Myra  at  all.  They 
had  been  boy  and  girl  together,  confidantes,  playmates, 
brother  and  sister.  The  idea  of  any  other  relationship 
had  never  for  a  moment  crossed  his  mind,  and  when  he 
bade  her  a  careless  good-bye  and  mechanically  kissed  her 
cheek  he  had  not  the  slightest  suspicion  that  her  heart 
was  in  a  tumult,  that  at  the  faintest  encouragement  she 
would  have  thrown  herself  into  his  arms  and  offered  her 
lips. 

She  gave  no  indication  of  the  emotion  which  swayed 
her  then.  But  all  day  she  brooded  over  the  coldness  of 
the  farewell  alone  in  her  room.  Not  with  tears,  the  time 
for  that  relief  was  not  yet  come. 

Hora  had  observed,  but  said  nothing.  But  when  she 
did  not  make  her  appearance  at  the  dinner-table  he  went 
to  her  room.  The  door  was  locked.  He  began  to  be 
afraid.  But  she  answered  to  his  knocking  that  she  had  a 
headache  and  could  not  eat.  He  reasoned  with  her,  and 
commanded  that  she  should  join  him  at  the  table.  She 
was  on  the  point  of  refusing,  but  habit  was  strong.  She 
obeyed  his  peremptory  request,  though  sullenly.  Hora 
took  no  notice  of  her  mood,  while  the  meal  was  being 
served,  but  when  it  was  over  and  Myra  rose  to  leave  he 
rose  too  and  followed  her.  She  went  direct  towards  her 
own  room.  He  checked  her. 

"  I  must  speak  to  you  to-night,  Myra,"  he  said.  "  I 
have  something  important  to  say  to  you." 

She  passed  through  the  door  which  Hora  held  open 
for  her  without  a  word  and  threw  herself  into  a  chair. 
She  anticipated  some  reproach,  but  she  was  far  too 
miserable  to  care  for  reproaches. 


140  THE   MASTER   CRIMINAL 

Hora  was  silent  awhile  after  he  had  entered  and  seated 
himself  opposite  her.  Then  he  spoke  sharply.  "What 
have  you  been  saying  or  doing  to  Guy  to  drive  him  away 
from  his  home  ?  " 

The  suddenness,  the  preposterous  nature,  of  the 
charge  aroused  Myra  as  nothing  else  could  have  done. 
Her  lethargy  vanished.  The  colour  flashed  to  her  cheeks 
and  the  light  to  her  eyes,  though  surprise  tied  her  tongue 
so  that  Hora  had  time  to  repeat  the  query. 

"  What  have  I  done  to  Guy?  "  she  answered.  "  What 
do  you  mean?  Do  you  think  that  I — that  I — would  do 
anything  to  send  him  away  ?  " 

"  I  can  conceive  of  no  other  reason  why  he  should  have 
so  deserted  his  home  of  late,"  answered  Hora  coldly.  He 
was  deliberately  provoking  a  storm,  and  it  burst  upon 
him. 

"  I  am  not  quite  the  fool  you  suppose  me  to  be,  Com- 
mandatore,"  she  cried  hotly.  "  You  cannot  impose  upon 
me  with  the  shallow  pretence  that  you  think  I  am  re- 
sponsible for  Guy's  absence.  I  am  not  blind.  I  can  see 
plainly  enough  that  your  intention  has  been  to  get  Guy 
away  and  there  can  only  be  one  motive  for  your  wishing 
to  do  so.  You  think  he  can  do  far  better  for  himself  than 
to  mate  with  a  girl  you  picked  up  from  the  gutter." 

"  Suppose  I  have  thought  so ;  what  then  ? "  asked 
Hora.  "  What  cause  have  you  for  complaint  ?  " 

"  None,"  she  answered,  her  voice  full  of  bitterness. 
"  Save  that  you  have  allowed  me  to  live  in  a  fool's  para- 
dise, that  you  have  encouraged  me  to  believe  that  one 
day  the  impossible  might  happen,  that  you  have  encour- 
aged me  to  believe  that  there  was  no  one  you  would  so 
welcome  as  daughter  as  myself.  I  don't  know  why  you 


POISONED   WORDS  141 

should  have  instilled  such  a  belief  in  my  mind,  Comman- 
datore,  unless  you  have  hated  me  all  the  time.  You  must 
have  done  so,  and  now  you  should  be  glad.  You  have 
made  me  suffer — well,  now  you  can  gloat  over  the 
thought." 

"  Made  you  suffer,  have  I  ? "  answered  Hora  scorn- 
fully. "  You  don't  know  what  suffering  is.  The  vapour- 
ings  of  a  love-sick  girl.  Bah !  I  have  no  patience  with 
such  sentimental  bleatings." 

Myra  rose  from  her  chair,  pale  now  with  anger,  "  And 
now  you  insult  me,"  she  cried. 

He  would  have  interrupted  her,  but  she  overpowered 
his  words  with  a  torrent  of  her  own.  "  Oh,  you  have 
the  right  to  insult  me  as  you  please;  I  don't  question  it. 
Did  you  not  buy  me,  as  you  have  told  me  often  enough, 
body  and  soul  for  a  piece  of  gold  and  a  bottle  of  gin. 
The  master  cannot  insult  the  slave,  you  will  say.  I  sup- 
pose I  ought  to  smile  at  your  reproaches,  but  when 
you  accuse  me  of  having  driven  Guy  away — it  is  too 
much,  Commandatore.  I  cannot  bear  that  accusation, 
at  least." 

She  dropped  limply  into  the  chair  from  which  she  had 
risen.  Her  face  fell  forward  into  her  hands,  and  her 
whole  body  was  shaken  with  a  storm  of  sobs. 

Hora  was  silent.  He  had  provoked  the  storm.  He 
waited  for  its  subsidence  before  he  broached  the  subject 
he  had  in  his  mind.  Presently  tears  came  to  Myra's  re- 
lief, the  crystal  drops  broke  through  her  fingers.  She 
lay  back  in  the  chair  exhausted  by  the  cyclone  of  passion. 

"  I  have  something  yet  to  say,  Myra,"  remarked  Hora 
quietly.  "  I  believe  you  when  you  say  that  you  have  done 
nothing  to  drive  Guy  away,  but  that  belief  makes  it  nee- 


142  THE   MASTER   CRIMINAL 

essary  to  look  for  another  explanation.  Guy  is  of  the  age 
when  there  is  only  one  possible  explanation.  He  is  blind 
to  your  beauty,  Myra ;  have  you  any  idea  as  to  any  other 
woman  who  is  likely  to  have  attracted  him? 

There  was  a  subtle  meaning  in  Hora's  voice  which  ar- 
rested Myra's  wandering  attention.  She  looked  up. 
Tears  had  reddened  her  eyes,  a  hardness  came  into  her 
face.  She  was  almost  ugly.  She  crushed  her  handker- 
chief into  a  ball. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Commandatore  ? "  she  asked. 
Then,  as  she  met  Hora's  eyes,  she  bent  fonvard  to  him, 
"  You  know  something,  you  know  something."  She 
forced  the  words  from  between  clenched  teeth. 

Hora  made  no  answer,  and  she  continued,  "  You  need 
not  trouble  about  breaking  it  gently,  Commandatore. 
Who  is  it?" 

The  Commandatore  was  unmoved  by  her  emotion. 

"  I  am  asking  you,  Myra.  As  yet  I  have  only  a  sus- 
picion. I  was  wondering  whether  you  could  not  give  me 
confirmation." 

"  Don't  play  with  me  any  longer,  Commandatore," 
she  pleaded.  "  I  am  not  a  child." 

He  seemed  to  be  moved  by  the  appeal,  for  he  answered 
with  animation,  "  Indeed,  Myra,  you  do  me  an  injustice. 
I  know  nothing  certainly,  I  only  suspect ;  and  I  am  blam- 
ing you,  Myra,  you — for  allowing  Guy  to  be  taken  from 
us." 

She  gazed  at  him  stupidly,  while  she  repeated  his 
words,  "You  are  blaming  me?" 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  "  I  am  blaming  you.  You  are 
young,  you  are  beautiful.  Day  by  day  you  have  been  in 
Guy's  company,  and  yet  you  have  allowed  him  to  be 


POISONED   WORDS  143 

stolen  away  from  us.  If  you  have  not  driven  him  away, 
at  least  you  have  made  no  effort  to  keep  him." 

Myra  was  silent.  Hora  was  speaking  vehemently  and, 
though  she  had  learned  to  doubt  his  every  word,  yet  it 
was  difficult  to  doubt  his  sincerity  now.  The  man  con- 
tinued : 

"  You  have  told  me  you  love.  I  doubt  if  you  can 
know  the  meaning  of  the  word.  Love  does  not  sit  with 
hands  folded  idly  while  the  beloved  is  stolen  away.  Love 
fights  for  existence  against  all  rivals.  It  is  insistent. 
It  will  not  be  denied.  Beauty  is  its  weapon.  The 
knowledge  of  the  primitive  instinct  of  a  man  to  a  maid 
is  a  sufficient  education  in  strategy.  Are  you  such  a  fool 
that  you  did  not  see  that  it  was  in  your  power  to  have 
kept  Guy  at  your  will  ?  " 

Myra  was  forced  to  protest.  "  To  thrust  myself  on 
Guy.  To  be  repulsed — the  shame  of  it,  Commandatore," 
she  answered  weakly. 

"Bah!"  replied  Hora.  "A  man  will  fight  for  a 
woman,  and  take  no  shame  in  his  repulse.  Why  not  a 
woman  for  a  man  ?  Are  you  of  such  ordinary  stuff,  such 
common  fustian,  that  you  will  tamely  stand  by  while 
some  milk-and-water  chit  takes  your  natural  mate  from 
you  ?  You  had  better  go  back  to  the  gutter,  if  so." 

There  was  scorn  in  his  words,  scorn  in  the  tone  of  his 
voice,  and  if  Hora  intended  to  rouse  the  woman's  spirit 
the  words  did  not  fail  of  their  purpose.  Though  she 
winced  under  the  sting  of  his  speech,  her  eyes  flashed 
fire  again. 

"  You  do  me  less  than  justice,"  she  said.  "  Have  I 
not  always  been  obedient?  You  have  never  bade  me 
please  myself.  Always  it  has  been,  some  day  if  you  are 


144  THE   MASTER   CRIMINAL 

dutiful,  Myra,  you  shall  have  the  chance.  I  have  waited 
and  waited,  and  now  you  have  nothing  but  scorn." 

Hora  rose,  and,  passing  behind  the  girl,  bent  over  her 
chair. 

"  It  may  not  be  too  late  yet,"  he  said.  "  You  remem- 
ber when  I  said  to  you  that  the  day  might  come  when  I 
should  bid  you  take  Guy's  heart  from  him,  toss  it  away, 
trample  on  it,  break  it,  or  store  it  away  with  your  trin- 
kets— do  with  it  as  you  please?  That  day  has  come, 
Myra."  His  voice  whispered,  almost  hissed,  the  latter 
words  in  her  ear. 

"  It  is  too  late,"  she  cried  in  reply. 

"  It  is  not  too  late,"  insisted  Hora  passionately.  "  Too 
late  is  the  excuse  of  cowardice.  Guy  will  come  back. 
It  will  be  your  duty  to  keep  him,  to  make  him  forget  all 
else  but  yourself." 

"  But  he  cares  nothing  for  me,"  she  cried. 

"  That  is  your  fault,"  he  answered  readily.  "  Heaven  I 
You  a  woman  and  hold  yourself  so  cheaply.  Look  in 
the  glass  and  compare  what  you  see  there  with  the 
women  you  meet  day  by  day."  His  voice  dropped  to  a 
whisper  again.  "  Guy's  eyes  have  been  closed  to  your 
beauty.  Open  them.  He  has  yet  to  learn  that  a  man's 
will  dies  when  a  woman's  arms  are  around  him,  and  her 
lips  are  pressed  against  his.  Teach  him  the  lesson, 
Myra,  for  I  tell  you  that  if  such  a  passion  as  yours  does 
not  awaken  a  response  in  his  heart,  he  is  much  less  than 
man.  You  want  to  know  how  to  make  victory  certain? 
Take  lesson  of  Delilah,  but  do  not  let  too  many  opportu- 
nities pass.  Remember  that  once  you  win  him  he  is  won 
forever.  I  am  on  your  side." 

Myra   listened,   fascinated  by   Hora's  subtle   sugges- 


POISONED  WORDS  145 

tions.  He  ceased  speaking  and  stole  softly  out  of  the 
room.  She  did  not  hear  him  depart.  Her  mind  was  in 
a  tumult.  There  was  joy  in  the  thought  that  the  Com- 
mandatore  had  at  last  not  merely  given  her  permission 
to  win  Guy,  but  had  urged  her  to  the  conquest.  There 
was  dread  lest  another,  the  unknown  rival,  should  al- 
ready have  won  him.  There  was  doubt  in  her  mind  that 
she  might  fail,  but  that  was  tempered  with  a  knowledge 
of  her  own  beauty.  She  hastened  to  her  own  room  and 
asked  the  mirror  for  information.  Yes,  beauty  of  face 
and  form  were  both  hers.  Gladly  would  she  have  laid 
her  beauties  at  Guy's  feet,  but  to  use  them  to  entrap  him 
— a  flood  of  crimson  overwhelmed  her  at  the  thought. 
And  yet,  rather  than  another  should  take  him  from  her, 
there  was  no  shame  to  which  she  would  not  cheerfully 
submit.  Even  if  Guy  should  scorn  her,  she  would  still 
have  tasted  the  fierce  joy  of  possession. 

Cunningly  had  Lynton  Hora  made  use  of  his  knowl- 
edge of  the  girl's  complex  nature.  He  had  heaped  fuel 
upon  the  flames  of  her  desire,  he  had  artfully  suggested 
that  it  was  within  her  power  to  light  an  answering  flame 
in  Guy's  heart.  He  had  taunted  her  with  cowardice  in 
submitting  without  effort  to  a  rival's  success;  he  had 
even  recalled  her  humble  origin  to  her  mind  as  if  he 
would  make  it  clear  that  she  could  not  stoop  to  conquer. 
And  the  poison  which  he  had  dropped  in  her  ear  entered 
into  her  veins  until  it  filled  her  whole  being.  But  Guy 
did  not  return. 


CHAPTER   XIV 

THE   SHADOW-MAN 

THE  whole  of  Cornelius  Jessel's  cringing  heart  and 
slinking  soul  was  put  into  the  work  which  the  Master 
had  given  him  to  do.  He  loved  to  peer  and  pry  into 
other  people's  business,  even  when  no  hope  of  any  imme- 
diate advantage  to  himself  promised  to  reward  his  curi- 
osity. But  when  such  work  produced  solid,  golden 
results,  no  one  in  the  world  could  have  devoted  himself 
with  more  keenness  to  it  than  "  Ma  "  Norton's  "  Shadder 
Man."  And  the  Master  was  no  niggard.  When  he  paid 
his  visit  to  Inspector  Kenly's  house  in  Melpomene  Road, 
he  had  left  behind  him  twenty  pieces  of  gold.  "  If  I 
am  satisfied  with  you,  I  shall  continue  to  pay  you  the 
same  amount  at  the  end  of  every  four  weeks,"  he  had 
said ;  "  but  remember  that  I  shall  do  so  only  on  condi- 
tion that  you  act  strictly  on  my  instructions." 

Cornelius  had  protested  a  determination  to  devote  him- 
self absolutely  to  fulfilling  his  employer's  commands, 
while  his  eyes  glistened  at  the  sight  of  the  gold. 

The  Master  did  not  trust  entirely  to  the  spy's  avarice. 
"  You  had  better  obey,"  he  sneered,  "  for  if  you  do  not 
you  will  probably  find  that  one  or  two  little  incidents  in 
your  career,  with  which  you  have  not  hitherto  been  iden- 
tified, will  become  known  in  quarters  where  you  are  not 
likely  to  be  viewed  with  any  special  favour." 

146 


THE    SHADOW-MAN  147 

Cornelius  Jessel  had  shivered  at  the  tone  his  patron 
adopted,  and  had  renewed  his  protestations. 

"  I  warn  you  first,"  the  Master  had  continued  coldly, 
"  so  that  you  may  be  free  to  refuse  or  accept  as  you 
please.  Once  you  accept,  however,  remember  that  you 
will  have  to  reckon  with  me,  and  I  never  forget  to  repay 
the  man  who  plays  me  false." 

Jessel  had  accepted  when  he  had  learned  that  he  was 
required  to  do  nothing  which  could  by  any  chance  bring 
him  into  conflict  with  the  law,  that  he  was  merely  re- 
quired to  watch  over  and  report  upon  the  doings  of  a 
certain  Guy  Hora.  One  reservation  the  Master  had  been 
compelled  to  make,  even  though  he  realised  that  it  might 
have  the  very  opposite  effect  he  -  desired.  He  warned 
Cornelius  to  make  no  inquiries  concerning  the  young 
man's  own  family.  "  I  know  all  about  his  father  and 
sister,"  he  remarked,  giving  his  own  address,  "  and, 
besides  wasting  your  time,  any  interference  in  that  direc- 
tion might  upset  my  plans.  What  I  want  you  to  do  is 
to  find  out  who  are  his  friends  and  all  about  them,  what 
houses  he  visits  and  for  what  purpose.  You  know  the 
way  to  set  about  it  by  getting  hold  of  the  servants  and 
so  on." 

Yes,  Cornelius  knew,  and  it  tickled  his  vanity  to  think 
that  the  Master  had  realised  his  talents  in  that  direction. 

Then  another  thought  had  seemed  to  strike  Hora. 
"  The  young  man,"  he  said,  "  has  a  manservant  to  look 
after  him,  who  was  dismissed  from  his  last  berth  for 
drunkenness.  He  pretends  to  be  retrieving  his  character. 
Well — if  by  any  possibility  he  were  to  lose  it  again — I 
think  I  could  manage  to  get  you  his  berth.  I  need 
hardly  point  out  that  in  such  a  position  you  might  be  in 


148  THE   MASTER   CRIMINAL 

a  position  to  earn  the  salary  I  propose  to  pay  you  with 
great  case  to  yourself." 

Cornelius  understood.  He  suspected  from  the  Mas- 
ter's words  that  Guy  was  a  well-feathered  pigeon  upon 
whom  the  eyes  of  a  hawk  were  fixed.  When  the  time 
came  for  plucking,  he  realised  that  one  or  two  stray 
feathers  might  easily  be  blown  in  the  servant's  way.  He 
said  nothing  of  his  thoughts  in  this  direction,  but,  when 
the  Master  had  left  him,  he  was  as  keen  to  find  out  all 
he  could  concerning  Guy  as  his  patron  could  have  wished. 
He  would  have  started  that  same  night  only  he  had  been 
forbidden  to  do  so. 

Accordingly,  it  was  not  until  the  next  day  that  Guy 
became  possessed  of  two  shadows.  He  was  not  aware 
of  the  fact.  He  did  not  know  that  outside  the  door  of 
his  chambers  in  the  Albany  a  shadow  lurked  to  mingle 
with  his  own,  and  to  follow  him  wherever  he  went.  He 
did  not  know  that  it  accompanied  him  to  his  tailor's,  and 
peered  through  the  window  while  he  was  fitted  with  the 
latest  thing  in  waistcoats.  He  did  not  know  that  it  rode 
behind  his  cab  to  the  club,  and  waited  there  until  he 
emerged,  and  then,  picking  its  companion  up,  went  hand 
in  hand  with  it  to  the  theatre,  where  it  was  lost  in  the 
shadows  of  the  pit,  while  he  sat  in  the  stalls.  He  could 
not  know,  therefore,  that  this  second  shadow  was  utterly 
unlike  his  own,  in  that  it  possessed  an  avid  curiosity  to 
learn  what  he  was  doing  within  the  doors  which  alone 
proved  a  barrier  to  it.  He  did  not  know  that  when  it 
had  followed  him  three  days  in  one  week  to  Captain 
Marven's  town-house  that  the  door  no  longer  proved 
impassable  to  it.  He  could  not  have  known  that  when  he 
was  in  the  drawing-room  Cornelius  Jessel  was  in  the 


THE    SHADOW-MAN  149 

kitchen  eagerly  listening  to  details  of  the  gossip  of  the 
servants'  hall  which  had  already  decided  that  "  that  nice 
young  gentleman,  Mr.  Guy  Hora/'  seemed  to  have  "  at- 
tracted Miss  Meriel's  fancy  for  sure,"  and  that  both  the 
"  master  and  the  mistress  were  just  doing  their  level  best 
to  bring  the  match  about." 

Day  by  day  Lynton  Hora  had  received  the  report  of 
his  spy,  and  thus  he  had  learned  what  he  had  to  fear. 
He  had  early  taken  an  opportunity  for  enlisting  Myra's 
aid  to  recall  the  wanderer  when  the  opportunity  should 
offer.  But,  though  he  had  learned  something,  he  was  by 
no  means  satisfied  with  the  information. 

He  wanted  a  more  intimate  knowledge  of  the  progress 
of  events,  and,  meeting  the  shadow-man  by  appointment, 
he  harped  again  upon  the  desirability  of  the  shadow 
being  within  the  very  same  roof  as  the  person  to  which 
it  was  attached. 

The  shadow  from  that  moment  transferred  itself  from 
master  to  man.  It  followed  him  on  his  errands.  It 
gained  his  acquaintance.  It  proved  itself  a  merry,  aff- 
able shadow,  indeed,  with  a  pleasant  fund  of  genial  anec- 
dote, a  carelessness  about  the  tightness  of  its  purse-strings, 
so  that  James  Under,  whose  one  thought  for  the  fort- 
night he  had  already  been  in  Guy's  service  had  been  to 
escape  the  pursuing,  remorseless  alcohol  fiend,  welcomed 
the  acquaintance  as  an  ally.  In  his  off-hours,  and  they 
were  many,  the  temptation  to  Under  to  turn  in  to  the 
nearest  saloon  bar  had  been  almost  irresistible;  until  he 
met  with  Jessel.  After  the  meeting  Cornelius  proved  an 
innocuous  alternative.  He  did  not  appear  anxious  to 
cement  the  acquaintance  with  a  drink.  Under  was  glad 
when  he  met  his  new  friend.  They  spent  a  whole  Sun- 


150  THE   MASTER  CRIMINAL 

day  afternoon  in  the  park  together,  and  nothing  stronger 
than  tea  passed  their  lips.  They  went  to  a  music-hall  in 
company,  and  ginger  beer  was  the  innocuous  refresh- 
ment which  Jessel  proposed.  He  was  far  too  astute  to 
hasten  his  plans  until  the  fitting  time.  That  arrived 
soon  enough  for  his  purpose. 

One  evening,  when  Jessel  had  arranged  to  meet  his 
friend  for  a  visit  to  the  theatre,  Under  met  him  with  the 
information  that  Guy  required  him  to  return  to  his 
chambers  about  ten.  The  evening  was  wet. 

"  It's  no  use  thinking  of  the  theatre,"  remarked  Jessel 
to  his  companion,  sheltering  him  with  his  umbrella,  as 
they  walked  down  Piccadilly  towards  the  Circus.  "  We 
shall  have  to  postpone  our  visit  until  another  evening. 
But " — he  stopped  suddenly — "  I  tell  you  what,  Under. 
Why  shouldn't  we  be  swells  for  once  in  our  lives?  I'm 
in  funds  to-night,  and  I  just  fancy  myself  dining  at  one 
of  the  tip-top  restaurants." 

"  I  don't  think "  began  Under,  and  paused.  "  My 

togs,"  he  added  expressively. 

"  The  guvnor's  got  more  than  one  suit,  hasn't  he  ? " 
asked  Cornelius.  "  You  will  have  plenty  of  time  to 
change  on  your  return." 

The  valet  was  tickled  with  the  idea.  "  It  would  be  a 
bit  of  all  right,"  he  murmured  gleefully.  "  I've  often 
thought  I'd  like  to  be  one  of  themselves  just  to  know 
what  it  felt  like  to  be  waited  on  instead  of  having  to 
wait." 

"  Come  along,  then,"  said  Cornelius  impulsively.  He 
wheeled  his  companion  round,  and  hurried  him  back  to 
Guy's  chambers.  But  outside  the  door  Under  paused. 
*'  What  about  you?  "  he  asked. 


THE    SHADOW-MAN  151 

Cornelius  laughed. 

"  I  intended  to  'ave  dinner  by  myself  somewhere  if 
you  couldn't  come  to  the  theatre,"  he  remarked,  "  an'  I 
prepared  accordin'." 

Under  had  bestowed  small  attention  on  his  compan- 
ion's attire,  but  now  he  looked  more  closely  at  him.  Jes- 
sel  unbuttoned  his  overcoat,  and  the  valet  observed  that 
he  wore  correct  evening  dress.  His  last  scruples  van- 
ished. 

"  Come  inside  and  wait.  I  shall  be  ready  in  a  jiffy," 
he  said. 

Cornelius  entered  Guy's  abode,  and  condescended  to 
smoke  one  of  Guy's  cigarettes,  while  his  companion 
rigged  himself  out  in  one  of  his  master's  evening  suits. 
Under  was  not  long  in  making  the  change.  He  strutted 
into  the  room  with  a  most  consequential  air  when  he 
made  his  reappearance.  One  of  Guy's  silk  hats  was  on 
his  head,  one  of  Guy's  white  waistcoats  had  been  made 
to  meet  round  his  waist,  displaying  one  of  Guy's  newest 
shirts.  He  carried  one  of  Guy's  light  overcoats  over  his 
arm,  and  selecting  one  of  Guy's  cigarettes  he  lit  it  and 
professed  himself  to  be  "  fit  for  anything." 

The  two  sallied  forth  again.  Reaching  the  street,  Cor- 
nelius hailed  a  passing  hansom  cab,  giving  the  driver 
the  address  of  a  fashionable  restaurant  close  at  hand. 

"Why  not  walk?"  exclaimed  Under. 

"  Real  toffs  never  walk,"  replied  Jessel,  and  Under 
was  dumb. 

The  next  quarter  of  an  hour  passed  as  time  passes  in 
dreamland.  The  bowing  commissionaire  at  the  door, 
the  unobtrusive  waiters,  the  gaily  lighted  room,  with 
nearly  every  table  occupied  with  parties  of  diners,  the 


152  THE   MASTER CRIMINAL 

flowers,  the  beautiful  women,  seemed  unsubstantial.  He 
had  seen  them  all  before,  it  is  true,  it  was  no  unaccus- 
tomed sight,  but  the  circumstances  were  so  different 
Now  all  this  was  prepared  for  him — for  his  own  especial 
delectation. 

He  awoke  suddenly.  An  ice-pail  was  wheeled  beside 
the  table,  and  the  wine  waiter,  lifting  a  gold-foiled  bottle 
from  the  glittering  crystals,  drew  the  cork.  He  could  not 
refuse,  though  for  one  moment  the  ghost  of  a  resolution 
flitted  across  his  mental  vision.  "  Only  this  once,"  he 
murmured  to  himself.  For  thirty  years,  ever  since  he 
had  been  fifteen  years  of  age,  he  had  served.  He  was 
not  going  to  allow  his  one  evening  of  enjoyment  of  being 
served  to  be  spoiled  by  any  resolutions  made  by  the 
servitor.  His  eyes  lingered  on  the  champagne  lovingly. 
The  delicate  froth  melted  and  the  rising  bubbles  as  they 
burst  set  free  the  imprisoned  breath  of  the  vine.  He 
raised  the  glass  and  sipped.  Then  he  nodded  his  head 
sagely. 

"  There's  no  fault  to  be  found  with  your  taste  in  cham- 
pagne," he  remarked  to  Jessel. 

"  I  thought  that  we  might  as  well  do  the  thing  properly 
while  we  were  about  it,"  was  the  reply.  In  one  of  his 
permutations  Cornelius  had  occupied  the  post  of  butler 
in  a  wine  merchant's  family,  and  he  had  learned  some- 
thing of  the  niceties  of  brands  and  vintages,  though  in 
this  respect  he  could  not  claim  to  the  connoisseurship  of 
Under,  whose  thirty  years  in  the  best  families  had  left 
him  little  to  learn  on  the  subject. 

Under  emptied  his  glass,  the  attentive  waiter  refilled 
it.  He  lounged  back  in  his  chair,  and  drew  a  long 
breath  of  delight.  The  wine  filled  him  with  a  pleasant 


THE    SHADOW-MAN  153 

sense  of  exhilaration.  He  was  quite  wide  awake  now. 
He  looked  about  him.  Here  and  there  at  tables  were  the 
faces  of  people  he  knew;  he  could  count  three  of  his 
previous  employers,  and  a  dozen  others  to  whose  wants 
he  had  at  one  time  or  another  ministered.  He  turned  to 
Jessel  and  began  to  tell  him  items  of  scandal  respecting 
the  diners  at  the  other  tables.  Course  followed  course. 
The  first  bottle  of  champagne  was  followed  by  a  second. 
His  tongue  tripped  a  little  by  the  time  that  was  finished. 
He  had  entirely  forgotten  the  passage  of  time,  forgotten 
also  that  at  ten  o'clock  his  master  was  expecting  him. 
They  wound  up  the  dinner  with  liqueurs,  coffee,  and 
cigars.  The  room  had  nearly  emptied  when  Jessel  paid 
the  bill  and  they  rose  to  leave.  When  they  came  into  the 
street,  Under  turned  to  his  host. 

"  The  finesh  time've  ever  had  in  m'  life,"  he  remarked. 
"  Never  had  sush  time,  ole  f 'ler." 

A  clock  struck  ten.  "  Had  somethin'  to  do,  f'get  wa' 
it  was,"  he  remarked. 

"  Come  and  have  another  drink,  and  perhaps  you'll 
remember,"  said  Jessel.  He  had  drunk  but  sparingly 
himself. 

"  Itsh  my  turn  this  time,"  said  Under. 

He  took  Jessel's  arm,  for  he  found  the  pavement  a 
little  unsteady.  The  two  dropped  first  into  one  cafe, 
then  into  a  second.  The  time  slipped  away.  Under  grew 
more  incoherent  in  speech  as  he  poured  more  drinks 
down  his  throat.  Jessel  thought  it  time  for  him  to  go 
home.  He  recalled  to  Under's  befogged  intelligence  the 
fact  that  his  employer  would  be  expecting  him. 

"Tha'sh  all  ri',"  said  the  valet,  "goo*  sort,  my  guv' 
nor.  Let  him  wait  a  bit." 


154  THE   MASTER   CRIMINAL 

Jessel  had  no  intention  that  Guy  should  wait  any 
longer.  He  piloted  his  charge  into  the  street  again.  The 
pavement  was  rockier  than  ever.  Under  lurched  and  fell 
into  a  puddle.  When  he  picked  himself  up,  Guy's  coat 
was  covered  with  mud.  Guy's  hat  was  also  crushed  and 
muddy.  Cornelius  called  a  cab,  and  they  drove  together 
to  the  Albany.  They  had  great  difficulty  in  passing  the 
porter  at  the  gate,  but  Jessel  persuaded  him  to  allow  them 
to  enter.  He  piloted  his  charge  to  the  door  of  Guy's 
chambers.  There  he  propped  him  against  the  door,  and, 
pressing  the  electric  button,  drifted  away  into  the 
shadows.  Unseen  himself,  he  watched  the  development 
of  his  plot.  He  saw  the  door  open,  and  Under  sprawl 
forward  into  the  entrance  hall.  He  heard  Guy's  sharp 
exclamation  of  amazement.  That  was  all.  The  door 
closed.  He  waited  some  minutes  longer,  half  expect- 
ing that  Under  would  be  thrust  out  then  and  there,  but 
as  nothing  of  the  sort  happened  he  betook  himself  home- 
ward. 

"  I  think  you  have  done  for  yourself,  my  good  Under," 
he  murmured.  "  I  suppose  I  had  better  let  the  Master 
know,  so  that  he  will  be  prepared."  He  felt  no  com- 
punction at  the  thought  that  he  had  perhaps  ruined  a 
fellow-creature.  His  chief  feeling  was  one  of  gratifi- 
cation at  the  artistic  manner  in  which  he  had  carried 
out  his  plans,  to  which  was  added  satisfaction  that  his 
patron  would  pay  the  expenses  of  his  evening's  amuse- 
ment without  a  murmur. 

Under  had  indeed  "  done  for  himself,"  as  Cornelius 
had  phrased  the  possible  result.  Guy  had  a  horror  of 
drunkenness.  He  had  required  Under's  services  that 
evening,  for  he  was  expecting  friends  to  drop  in  for  a 


THE    SHADOW-MAN  155 

smoke  and  a  chat  and  possibly  a  game  of  bridge.  Some 
of  the  friends  had  been  there  when  Under  had  been  pre- 
cipitated into  the  entrance  hall  on  the  opening  of  the 
door.  Guy  had  felt  no  pity  for  the  backslider.  He  saw 
that  it  was  useless  to  remonstrate  then.  Under  was 
hopelessly  incapable  of  speech,  or  even  of  holding  him- 
self erect.  With  the  aid  of  one  of  his  friends  Guy  had 
carried  the  man  to  his  room  and  laid  him  on  his  bed. 
He  recognised  that  the  valet  had  garbed  himself  in  his 
(Guy's)  clothes.  He  made  up  his  mind  to  the  course 
he  should  pursue,  and  carried  it  out  without  hesitation. 

When  Under,  pale-faced  and  shaky,  appeared  the  next 
morning,  Guy  said  nothing  until  breakfast  was  served 
and  cleared  away.  Then  he  told  the  man  to  pack  up  his 
clothes  and  depart.  He  would  not  listen  to  the  excuses 
Under  had  ready.  He  felt  that  he  had  done  the  man 
more  than  justice  when  he  had  paid  him  a  month's 
wages  over  and  above  that  due  to  him,  and  he  breathed 
more  freely  when  the  man  had  departed. 

An  hour  later  there  came  a  ring  at  his  bell.  He 
answered  the  door  personally.  Cornelius  Jessel  stood 
there. 

"  Mr.  Guy  Hora,  sir  ?  "  he  asked  deferentially. 

"What  is  it?"  asked  Guy. 

Jessel  handed  him  a  note.  Guy  recognised  Lynton 
Hora's  handwriting  and  tore  open  the  envelope.  "  Dear 
Guy,"  he  read,  "  I  don't  know  whether  you  could  do  any- 
thing amongst  any  of  your  friends  for  the  bearer  of  this 
missive.  He  isn't  a  very  prepossessing-looking  person, 
but  I  know  him  to  be  a  capable  valet,  and  he  is  quite 
sober.  Of  course  he  is  stupid,  but  all  servants  are  that 
or  they  wouldn't  be  servants.  Some  years  ago  he 


156  THE   MASTER   CRIMINAL 

valeted  me  for  a  while,  and,  running  up  against  him  in 
the  street  the  other  day,  he  told  me  he  was  out  of  a 
berth,  and  I  foolishly  promised  to  see  if  I  could  find  him 
one.  If  you  can  relieve  me  of  the  responsibility,  do. 
When  are  you  coming  to  see  us  again?  It  seems  ages 
since  you  looked  us  up,  and  Myra  is  crying  her  eyes 
out  in  your  absence.  Yours,  L.  H." 

That  same  evening,  while  Cornelius  was  sedately 
laying  out  Guy's  evening  clothes  in  readiness  for  his 
new  employer's  return  to  dress  for  dinner,  Inspector 
Kenly  was  learning  almost  with  dismay  that  his  lit- 
erary lodger  had  that  day  arrived  home,  packed  his 
boxes  in  a  hurry,  paid  a  week's  rent  in  lieu  of  notice,  and 
departed  without  giving  a  hint  as  to  the  reason  for  his 
sudden  departure,  or  whither  he  was  bound. 


CHAPTER   XV 

INSPECTOR    KENLY   FINDS   A   CLUE 

INSPECTOR  KENLY  had  good  cause  for  regretting  the 
departure  of  the  man  whose  arrival  in  his  home  had 
been  the  source  of  so  much  annoyance  to  him,  for  Cor- 
nelius Jessel  had  become  possessed  of  professional  in- 
terest to  him.  His  enquiries  into  the  leakage  of  infor- 
mation contained  in  the  Foreign  Office  despatches  had 
at  last  borne  fruit.  He  had  learned  that  Lynton  Hora 
had  been  a  large  speculator  for  the  fall  which  had  taken 
place  upon  the  publication  of  the  stolen  information, 
and  that  the  Commandatore  had  netted  at  least  one 
hundred  thousand  pounds  as  the  result.  It  had  been 
easy  to  identify  the  successful  speculator  with  the 
pseudo-clergyman  who  had  called  upon  Cornelius  Jes- 
sel. The  detective  had  counted  a  great  deal  upon  ob- 
taining useful  information  about  Hora  from  his  lodger. 

But  the  part  Hora  played  in  the  Stock  Exchange 
panic  was  not  the  only  item  of  information  which  had 
resulted  from  his  investigations.  He  had  found  that  a 
certain  Guy  Marven  had  also  speculated  successfully. 
The  fact  that  the  name  was  identical  with  that  of  the 
King's  Messenger  who  had  carried  the  de-coded  de- 
spatch from  London  to  Sandringham  did  not  lead  him 
to  suspect  that  Captain  Marven  could  be  the  culprit. 
To  his  mind  the  use  of  the  name  pointed  in  another 


158  THE   MASTER   CRIMINAL 

direction  altogether.  "  If  the  Captain  had  been  in  it," 
he  argued,  "he  would  have  taken  precious  good  care 
that  his  name  would  never  have  appeared.  It  looks  as 
if  whoever  did  the  job  has  used  Marven's  name  in  order 
to  throw  suspicion  upon  him." 

Deprived  of  his  hope  of  obtaining  any  information 
from  Jessel,  Inspector  Kenly  bethought  himself  of  his 
old  friend,  the  hall  porter  at  Westminster  Mansions. 
He  began  to  haunt  the  place.  Indeed,  the  revival  of 
interest  in  his  old  comrade  was  quite  touching.  How- 
ever, the  old  friend  had  lived  long  enough  to  understand 
that  something  more  than  interest  in  himself  was  at 
work,  when  a  busy  man  like  Inspector  Kenly  should 
happen  to  be  passing  twice  in  one  day,  and  on  each 
occasion  have  a  whole  hour  to  spend  in  gossip. 

He  told  the  Inspector  so  at  last. 

Kenly  laughed.  "  You're  quite  right,"  he  said, 
"  there's  not  the  slightest  use  in  trying  to  hoodwink 
an  old  hand  like  you.  Only,  you  know  what  it  is  in  the 
Yard,  we  are  not  allowed  to  take  our  closest  friends 
into  our  confidence.  I  only  wish  I  could  tell  a  man  of 
your  intelligence  what  I'm  after."  He  sighed,  as  if 
such  a  conversation  would  have  been  a  heartfelt  relief. 

The  hall  porter  was  flattered.  "  At  least  you  can  tell 
me  who  it  is  you  are  enquiring  about  ?  "  he  said. 

"  I  don't  know  that  I  ought  to  do  so,"  replied  Kenly 
dubiously.  "  But,"  he  added  with  the  air  of  a  man 
making  up  his  mind  to  impart  a  tremendous  secret,  "  I'll 
risk  it,  Dwyer.  I  know  that  you  will  treat  anything  I 
say  as  strictly  confidential." 

"Of  course,  you  may.  I  hope  you  know  me  well 
enough  for  that,"  replied  Dwyer. 


INSPECTOR   KENLY   FINDS   A  CLUE    159 

"  It's  those  Hora  people  on  the  top  floor  that  I  am 
anxious  to  find  out  something  about,"  he  remarked. 

"  The  Horas,"  said  the  man,  and  a  disappointed  look 
spread  over  his  face.  "  There  can't  be  anything  against 
them;  they  are  just  about  the  best  tenants  we've  got  in 
the  place,  been  here  ten  years,  too.  Now,  if  you'd  said 
the  Lorimers,  or  that  foxy  little  chap  Griddle,  I  could 
have  understood  it." 

"  Still  it  is  all  about  the  Horas  that  I  want  to  know," 
persisted  Kenly.  "  Tell  me  all  about  them,  Dwyer." 

The  hall  porter  did  so,  and  was  surprised  himself  to 
learn  how  little  he  knew  about  them.  There  was  only 
one  scrap  of  information  which  promised  to  be  of  any 
service  to  the  detective.  His  ears  caught  the  name  of 
Guy.  He  remembered  that  Guy  Marven  had  been  the 
name  of  the  other  operator. 

"  The  son  is  named  Guy  ?  "  he  asked.  "  Does  he  live 
at  home?" 

"  Just  left  us,"  was  the  reply.  "  Gone  to  live  in  the 
Albany  on  his  own  account.  Let  me  see;  it  was 

three "  He  calculated  the  weeks  on  his  fingers. 

"  No,  four  weeks  ago." 

Inspector  Kenly  perceived  that  the  date  coincided  with 
that  of  the  speculation. 

He  thanked  his  old  comrade,  and  strolled  thoughtfully 
across  the  park  and  dropped  into  Vine  Street  Police  Sta- 
tion, where  he  was  cordially  welcomed  by  the  detective 
inspector  on  duty. 

With  him  Kenly  did  not  waste  any  time  in  prelimi- 
naries. When  he  had  discussed  one  or  two  matters  of 
official  interest,  he  broached  his  object.  "  I  want  to 
find  out  something  about  one  of  the  tenants  in  the  Al- 


160  THE   MASTER   CRIMINAL 

bany,"  he  remarked.  "  Are  any  of  your  people  here 
friendly  with  the  man  at  the  gate  ?  " 

"Isn't  your  card  enough?"  suggested  the  local  de- 
tective. 

"  No,"  said  Kenly.  "  It's  a  very  delicate  matter.  I 
don't  want  to  appear  to  be  making  any  especial  en- 
quiries." 

"  I  had  better  come  along  with  you  myself,  then," 
was  the  prompt  response.  "  I  know  the  old  chap 
pretty  well,  and  I  don't  think  he  will  try  to  pull  my  leg, 
as  he  usually  does  when  people  ask  him  questions." 

"  That  sort  of  man,  is  he  ?  "  asked  Kenly,  as  they  left 
the  police  station  in  company. 

"  Fly  as  they  make  'em,"  was  the  response.  "  There 
are  usually  more  than  one  or  two  young  bloods  living 
there,  and  when  they  don't  pay  up  and  the  writ-men  are 
after  them,  it  takes  a  smart  man  to  keep  them  out.  Yet, 
since  the  present  porter  has  been  there,  not  a  writ  has 
been  served  in  the  place." 

He  proceeded  to  give  divers  illustrations  of  the  gate- 
keeper's smartness  until  they  arrived  at  the  gate,  where 
Kenly  received  the  introduction  he  desired.  The  in- 
spector retired  with  his  new  acquaintance  into  the  little 
hutch  with  the  big  glass  window  where  the  gate-keeper 
kept  watch  during  his  hours  of  duty,  and  proceeded  to 
put  questions.  He  gave  no  hint  of  the  object  he  had 
in  view.  In  fact,  he  invented  a  purely  fictitious  reason 
to  account  for  his  enquiries,  for,  when  professionally  en- 
gaged, the  detective  had  the  very  faintest  respect  for 
the  truth,  though  in  private  life  he  would  have  felt  hor- 
ribly ashamed  of  the  slightest  deviation  from  exact  fact. 
He  declared  that  he  suspected  a  man  in  Hora's  employ 


INSPECTOR   KENLY   FINDS   A  CLUE    161 

of  being  concerned  in  some  undefined  criminal  prac- 
tices. 

"  Which  man  ?  The  old  one  or  the  new  ?  "  asked  the 
gate-keeper  promptly. 

"  The  new  one,"  answered  Kenly  boldly. 

"  Not  surprised  to  hear  it  at  all,"  was  the  answer, 
"  But  if  you  had  said  the  last  man,  I  could  have  soon 
told  you  you  were  on  the  wrong  track,  for,  saving  the 
fact  that  he  would  lift  his  elbow  too  frequently,  there 
was  not  a  scrap  of  vice  in  poor  James  Under." 

"  I  suppose  that's  why  he  left  ?  "  hazarded  Kenly. 

"  Yes/'  said  the  porter.  "  I  wasn't  on  the  gate  that 
night,  or  I  would  have  seen  that  he  didn't  make  a  fool 
of  himself.  He  came  home,  so  he  told  me,  blind  to  the 
world,  went  up  to  Mr.  Hora's  chambers,  and  when,  in 
answer  to  his  ring,  his  boss  opened  the  door,  he  tumbled 
down  inside.  So  next  morning  off  he  went." 

"  Poor  chap,"  said  the  Inspector.  "  Do  you  know 
where  he's  to  be  found.  I  might  put  something  in  his 
way." 

The  gate-keeper  searched  amongst  a  number  of  scraps 
of  paper,  unearthing  one  which  had  an  address  scribbled 
upon  it.  "  He  left  it  with  me  in  case  I  should  hear  of 
a  berth  going,"  he  explained. 

"  I'll  look  him  up  when  I  have  time,"  said  Kenly. 
He  was  copying  the  address  into  his  note-book,  when  the 
gate-keeper  nudged  his  arm. 

"  Here's  the  new  man,"  he  whispered. 

Inspector  Kenly  looked  up,  and  his  surprise  was  ex- 
pressed in  his  strongest  exclamation. 

"  By  Henry !  "  he  remarked. 

Cornelius  Jessel  glided  through  the  gate,  a  model  of 


162  THE   MASTER   CRIMINAL 

smiling  decorum.  Inspector  Kenly  wheeled  round 
promptly  so  that  his  back  was  towards  the  window,  nor 
did  he  turn  again  until  Jessel's  footsteps  were  no  longer 
audible. 

"  So  he  is  your  man  ?  "  remarked  the  gate-keeper  curi- 
ously. 

"  He  most  certainly  is  my  man,"  replied  the  detective 
emphatically. 

"  From  the  first  time  I  set  eyes  on  him,"  declared  the 
porter,  "  I  knew  he  was  a  criminal.  What  has  he  been 
doing?  I  shouldn't  be  surprised  if  it  was  murder.  He 
walks  for  all  the  world  like  a  poisoner." 

Inspector  Kenly  laughed.  "  At  present  I  cannot  say 
that  he  is  guilty  of  anything,"  he  remarked.  "  But  I 
am  glad  to  know  that  he  is  somewhere  handy  when  I 
want  to  lay  my  hand  upon  him.  By  the  way,"  he  added 
drily,  "  has  your  observation  of  the  gait  of  poisoners 
been  extensive  ?  " 

The  porter  seemed  puzzled. 

"  That's  the  only  gate  I  know  anything  about,"  he 
answered,  nodding  his  head  towards  the  entrance. 

"  Inspector  Kenly  smiled.  "  The  gait — the  walk  of 
poisoners,"  he  remarked. 

"  Oh,"  said  the  porter,  and  a  hearty  guffaw  rolled  up 
from  beneath  his  capacious  waistcoat.  "  If  you'd  have 
spoken  in  plain  English  I  should  have  understood  you. 
But  these  newfangled  words " 

Inspector  Kenly  did  not  explain.  He  set  himself  to 
amuse  his  new  acquaintance,  and  succeeded  so  well  that, 
when  an  hour  later  he  declared  that  he  must  depart,  he 
received  a  cordial  invitation  to  drop  into  the  hutch  when- 
ever he  might  be  passing.  He  had  succeeded  better 


INSPECTOR   KENLY   FINDS   A  CLUE    163 

that  he  had  expected;  not  only  had  he  discovered  that 
his  late  lodger  was  in  Guy  Hora's  employment,  but  he 
had  also  been  favoured  with  the  opportunity  of  making 
acquaintance  with  Guy's  features,  for,  while  he  had  been 
chatting  with  the  porter,  Guy  had  driven  up  to  the  gate 
and  entered  the  building. 

The  detective  began  to  feel  that  he  had  in  his  hands 
the  threads  which,  when  unravelled,  might  lead  him  to 
some  important  discovery.  The  unravelling  might  re- 
quire infinite  patience,  but  he  was  inured  to  that.  There 
was  no  detail  too  small  for  him  to  overlook.  He  went 
straight  from  the  Albany  to  the  humble  lodging  in  Soho, 
which  was  Under's  address.  He  needed  all  his  phi- 
losophy. Under  was  not  at  home.  Kenly  waited  for 
him,  waited  for  six  hours  until  the  valet  came  home, 
walking  unsteadily,  and  with  a  vacant  look  in  his  eye. 
The  detective  did  not  speak  to  him.  When  the  door 
closed  on  him  he  made  his  own  way  homewards  to 
Woodbine  Cottage. 

He  was  very  tired  when  he  laid  his  head  on  the  pillow, 
but  at  eight  o'clock  the  next  morning  he  was  enquiring 
again  for  Under,  and  by  aid  of  his  most  persuasive  smile 
succeeded  in  winning  his  way  to  the  room  where  the 
valet  still  lay,  slumbering  heavily. 

"  Here,  wake  up,  old  fellow,"  the  detective  shouted 
cheerily  as  he  closed  the  door,  for  the  benefit  of  the  land- 
lady who  had  shown  him  up  to  the  room. 

Under  merely  moved  uneasily.  A  blind,  with  the 
grime  of  years  upon  it  left  the  room  shrouded  in  gloom. 
Kenly  drew  it  up,  and  opened  the  window.  It  was  a 
bare  apartment.  Grimy  bed,  a  single  chair,  a  cheap 
washstand  in  painted  wood  with  a  cracked  basin  stand- 


164  THE   MASTER   CRIMINAL 

Ing  upon  it,  a  battered  tin  box,  and  a  ragged  strip  of 
carpet  formed  the  whole  of  the  furniture. 

Under  stirred  as  the  light  of  day  fell  on  his  face. 
He  sat  up  in  bed  and  rubbed  his  eyes  drowsily.  Then 
he  caught  sight  of  his  visitor  and  rubbed  his  eyes  again. 

"  I  say,  look  here,"  he  remarked,  when  he  had  come  to 
the  conclusion  that  he  was  not  dreaming.  "  This  is  my 
room,  you  know." 

"  That's  exactly  the  reason  why  I  am  here,"  remarked 
Kenly  pleasantly. 

Under  stared  more  fixedly  than  before,  and  as  Kenly 
seemed  quite  unmoved  he  remarked: 

"  Well,  really,  it  is  a  most  awful  cheek  to  come  into 
another  man's  room  without  being  asked." 

"  Without  being  asked,"  said  Kenly  pleasantly.  "  You 
must  have  a  very  bad  memory,  old  chap,  for  your  very 
last  words  yesterday  evening  were,  '  Don't  be  a  minute 
later  than  eight  o'clock.'  " 

"  Good  Lord ! "  said  Under,  "  I  must  have  been 
drunk." 

"Not  a  bit  of  it,"  replied  Kenly.  "You  looked  as 
sober  as  if  you  had  been  drinking  eight  lemon-squashes 
one  after  the  other." 

"  I  swear  I  never  did  that  in  my  life,"  said  the  valet 
fervently. 

He  was  wide  awake  by  this  time,  and  he  sat  bolt  up- 
right on  the  bed. 

"  No,  I  don't  suppose  you  did  last  night,  or  you  would 
not  have  gone  to  bed  in  your  boots,"  remarked  Kenly. 
"  But  all  the  same,  you  promised  to  tell  me  some  inter- 
esting facts  about  your  late  employer,  Mr.  Guy  Hora, 
and  here  I  am." 


INSPECTOR   KENLY   FINDS   A  CLUE    165 

Under  stared  more  than  ever.  His  eyes  looked  as  if 
they  would  pop  out  of  his  head. 

"  I — told — you — that  I  could  tell  you  something  about 
Mr.  Hora  ?  "  he  gasped. 

"  That's  what  I  have  come  for,"  replied  the  detective. 
The  valet's  amazement  found  expression  at  last. 

"Who  the  devil  are  you?"  he  asked,  "for  I'll  be 
hanged  if  I  ever  saw  you  in  my  life  before." 

The  Inspector  was  enjoying  his  game  of  bluff  im- 
mensely; he  played  his  best  card. 

"  Detective  Inspector  Kenly  of  Scotland  Yard,"  he 
answered. 

At  the  information  Under's  mouth  opened  as  wide 
as  his  eyes. 

But  the  detective  observed  that  there  was  no  tinge  of 
fear  in  his  amazement. 

"  Well,  that  is  a  rum  go,"  remarked  the  valet,  when 
he  recovered  his  speech. 

"  It  most  certainly  is,"  replied  Kenly.  "  You  tell  me 
that  you  are  in  a  position  to  give  me  important  informa- 
tion, you  invite  me  to  call,  and  then  you  declare  that 
you  have  entirely  forgotten  not  only  your  promise  but 
the  man  you  made  it  to." 

"  But,  I  couldn't  have  made  any  such  promise,"  de- 
clared the  valet  earnestly,  "  for  I  have  absolutely  nothing 
to  tell.  A  nicer  gentleman  I've  never  had  anything  to 
do  with  than  Mr.  Hora,  and  as  for  knowing  anything 

which  could  be  of  interest  to  the  police "  An  idea 

came  into  his  brain.  "  Look  here,"  he  said,  "  I  suppose 
Mr.  Hora  hasn't  sent  you  here  to  see  if  I  took  anything 
which  doesn't  belong  to  me,  because,  if  so,  he's  mistaken. 
I  admit  I  do  take  a  drop  too  much  now  and  again,  though 


166  THE   MASTER   CRIMINAL 

I  have  fought  hard  against  my  little  failing,  but  nobody's 
ever  said  that  James  Under  wasn't  honest." 

There  was  an  emotional  throb  in  the  valet's  voice, 
and  Kenly  hastened  to  reassure  him. 

"  No,"  he  said.  "  My  call  was  not  in  consequence  of 
any  charge  which  has  been  made  against  you.  It  is 
entirely  prompted  by  a  desire  to  know  something  of  Mr. 
Guy  Hora." 

"  But  I've  nothing  to  tell,"  the  valet  asseverated  again. 

Kenly  appeared  not  to  hear  him.  "  Look  here,  Under," 
he  said,  "your  mind  is  wool-gathering  this  morning. 
You  just  have  a  wash  to  freshen  you  up,  and  then  we'll 
go  out  and  get  some  breakfast  together,  and  have  a  quiet 
chat." 

The  valet  found  it  impossible  to  combat  Kenly's  per- 
sistence. He  did  as  he  was  bidden.  He  brushed  his 
clothes,  he  arrayed  himself  in  a  clean  collar,  and  he 
meekly  preceded  the  detective  down  the  stairs,  and 
walked  by  his  side  until  they  arrived  at  a  tea-shop.  But 
there  he  paused.  "  Really,  I  couldn't  look  at  food  this 
morning,"  he  said. 

Kenly  saw  that  he  was  speaking  the  truth;  the  man's 
shaking  hands  told  their  own  tale. 

"  After  you've  had  a  pick-me-up,  you  will  be  able  to 
look  your  grub  in  the  face,"  he  remarked. 

He  marched  his  man  off  to  a  chemist's  shop,  ordered 
the  draught,  saw  that  his  patient  swallowed  it  to  the  last 
drop,  and  brought  him  back  again  to  the  tea-shop.  He 
was  quite  ready  for  his  own  breakfast  by  this  time,  and 
he  brought  a  healthy  appetite  to  the  demolition  of  the 
eggs  and  bacon  which  he  ordered.  Under,  also,  after  he 
had  swallowed  a  couple  of  cups  of  tea,  found  that  his 


INSPECTOR   KENLY   FINDS   A  CLUE    167 

appetite  had  returned.  He  was  morally  and  physically 
a  better  man  when  the  meal  was  done. 

But  while  it  was  in  progress  they  talked,  or,  at  least, 
Kenly  asked  questions  and  Under  answered  them.  The 
detective  learned  a  great  deal  during  that  conversation 
of  Guy's  habits  and  of  Guy's  friends.  There  was  ample 
justification  to  his  mind  for  the  ruse  he  had  employed, 
when  he  heard  the  one  fact  that  Guy  was  a  frequent 
visitor  at  the  house  of  the  Marvens.  To  his  mind  it 
seemed  that  the  threads  which  he  held  in  his  hand  were 
unravelling  themselves.  He  was  compelled  to  listen  to 
a  full  account  of  the  eventful  evening  which  had  led  up 
to  Under's  dismissal.  Though  amused,  he  was  not  par- 
ticularly attentive  until  the  valet  mentioned  the  name  of 
his  companion.  When  he  heard  that  Cornelius  Jessel 
had  been  the  tempter,  he  could  barely  restrain  his  eager- 
ness to  obtain  full  particulars.  Under  was  wax  in  his 
hands.  Kenly  learned  everything  that  the  valet  could 
tell  him  of  the  companion  of  that  disastrous  evening. 
He  made  no  comment.  The  threads  which  seemed  al- 
most to  be  coming  loose  had  of  a  sudden  twisted  them- 
selves into  an  inextricable  knot.  He  took  leave  of  Under 
shortly  afterwards,  and  as  he  walked  away  he  mut- 
tered to  himself,  "  By  Henry !  if  I  can  make  head  or  tail 
of  the  confounded  affair." 

Still,  he  had  learned  enough  to  know  that  Lynton 
Hora  and  Guy  Hora  and  Cornelius  Jessel  were  all  in 
some  way  concerned.  Moreover,  he  began  to  suspect 
that  a  possibility  which  he  had  eliminated  from  his  reck- 
oning was  within  the  bounds  of  credibility.  He  began 
to  see  that  his  enquiries  must  include  the  goings  and 
the  comings  and  the  doings  of  Captain  Marven. 


CHAPTER   XVI 

GUY   MAKES  A  RESOLUTION 

THE  dog  days  had  come  and  the  season  was  almost 
moribund  when  Captain  and  Mrs.  Marven  and  Miss 
Challys  left  town  for  their  country  house  in  Essex,  where 
Guy  was  to  join  them  a  week  later,  for  he  had  definitely 
accepted  the  invitation  which  had  been  pressed  upon 
him. 

London  seemed  empty  to  Guy  with  their  departure. 
He  had  made  it  his  business  in  life  to  meet  Meriel,  and 
latterly  not  a  day  had  passed  without  his  seeing  some- 
thing of  her.  If  he  had  not  met  her  with  Mrs.  Marven 
at  Raneleigh  or  Hurlingham  or  in  the  Park,  he  had  been 
certain  to  run  against  Captain  Marven  in  the  club,  and 
he  had  never  refused  the  Captain's  invitation  to  walk 
home  with  him  for  a  cup  of  tea.  At  the  opera,  at  dances, 
there  had  always  been  the  chance  of  meeting  the  girl 
again,  and  chance  had  rarely  proved  unkind. 

But  he  was  not  at  all  easy  in  his  mind.  The  thought 
that  he  had  been  accepting  the  hospitality  and  the  friend- 
ship of  the  man  whom  he  had  robbed  of  his  trust,  the 
man  whose  hand  was  given  him  in  honest  friendship,  ever 
haunted  him.  Yet  the  desire  to  be  with  Meriel  at  all 
hazards  overpowered  his  scruples.  He  made  excuses 
for  himself  at  first,  and,  when  he  perceived  that  he  was 
trying  to  cheat  himself,  the  half-formed  resolution  arose 

1 68 


GUY   MAKES   A   RESOLUTION  169 

in  his  mind  to  so  order  his  life  in  future  as  to  square  it 
with  Meriel's  ideals.  He  realised  that  it  would  not  be 
difficult  for  him  to  do  so,  that  a  life  of  conventional 
morality  meant  a  life  of  ease,  as  compared  with  an  exis- 
tence ordered  on  the  lines  of  Hora's  criminal  philosophy. 
He  told  himself  that  his  father  would  appreciate  his 
motives,  and,  though  he  might  sneer  at  his  decision,  yet 
would  accept  it.  He  even  persuaded  himself  that  the 
Commandatore  must  have  intended  to  suggest  that  he 
should  break  away  from  the  old  life  when  he  had  per- 
suaded him  to  take  chambers  of  his  own.  Yet,  though 
he  thus  argued  with  himself,  he  did  not  go  to  Westmin- 
ster Mansions. 

There  was  another  reason  for  remaining  away.  The 
last  sentence  in  the  note  which  Cornelius  Jessel  had 
brought  him  and  which  had  resulted  in  the  immediate 
establishment  of  the  shadow  now  under  his  own  roof, 
had  suggested  a  new  idea  to  him. 

"  Myra  is  crying  her  eyes  out  at  your  absence,"  the 
Commandatore  had  written,  and  the  written  words  had 
made  him  think  of  Myra  in  a  new  light.  Myra  was  not 
his  sister.  Sisters  did  not  cry  their  eyes  out  at  their 
brothers'  absence.  Could  it  be  that  she  cared  for  him 
in  anything  but  sisterly  fashion?  The  train  of  thought 
once  started  made  him  reflect.  He  could  see  now  that 
Myra's  demeanour  had  been  different  to  him  in  a  hun- 
dred little  particulars  during  the  past  few  months.  The 
frank  sisterly  attitude  of  her  early  years  had  been  re- 
placed by  something  entirely  different.  When  they  had 
been  boy  and  girl  together  she  had  been  free  as  the  day 
with  him.  A  girl  of  moods,  subject  to  hurtling  gusts 
of  passion  which  would  pass  as  swiftly  as  they  came, 


170  THE    MASTER   CRIMINAL 

she  had  been  prone  to  quarrel  with  him  on  the  slightest 
pretext,  and  as  easily  to  forget  the  cause  of  her  griev- 
ance. But  of  late — for  quite  a  year  past — the  attitude 
of  the  woman  had  materially  altered  from  that  of  the 
girl.  Guy  remembered,  when  he  came  to  reflect,  that  he 
had  quite  ceased  to  be  the  objective  of  any  of  her  ex- 
plosions of  passion,  that  she  had  been  almost  humbly 
solicitous  of  his  welfare,  his  comfort,  his  safety.  He 
remembered  her  distress  when  Hbra  had  broached  the 
question  of  his  residing  in  chambers,  her  troubled  de- 
meanour when  any  new  adventure  was  projected.  He 
had  thought  little  of  these  things  at  the  time,  but  in  the 
clearer  vision  which  was  vouchsafed  to  him  through  the 
medium  of  his  own  feeling  towards  Meriel,  he  began  to 
suspect  something  of  the  truth.  He  had  never  thought 
of  Myra  in  the  light  of  anything  but  a  sister.  Hardly 
that  even,  for  Hora  had  not  left  him  in  ignorance  of  her 
parentage,  and  of  later  years  his  thought  of  her  had  been 
rather  as  of  a  good  comrade,  trained  like  himself  to 
wage  war  with  the  world.  But  if  she  should  have 
learned  to  care  for  him,  as  he  had  learned  to  care  for 
Meriel!  No,  that  would  be  impossible.  He  put  the 
thought  from  him.  But  it  recurred.  It  was  the  second 
good  reason  which  kept  him  away  from  Westminster 
Mansions. 

He  was  glad  when  his  week  of  solitude  was  over,  for 
a  London  which  did  not  contain  Meriel  was  an  absolute 
wilderness,  peopled  only  with  meaningless  shadows. 
The  week  had  seemed  a  month,  more,  a  year.  But  it 
passed,  and  the  day  dawned  at  last  which  was  to  bring 
them  together  again  under  the  same  roof.  The  mere 
contemplation  of  sleeping  beneath  the  same  roof  set 


GUY   MAKES   A   RESOLUTION  171 

Guy's  blood  tingling  in  his  veins.  He  awoke  gay  and 
bright.  For  a  while  he  would  put  away  all  harassing 
thoughts  of  the  future,  and  drink  of  the  cup  of  happi- 
ness held  to  his  lips. 

Even  as  he  lifted  the  cup,  Hora,  though  absent, 
dropped  a  leaf  of  rue  therein  which  destroyed  its  sweet- 
ness. 

Amongst  his  letters  that  morning  was  one  from  the 
Commandatore.  "  You  have  not  been  to  see  us,"  he 
wrote,  "  and  Myra  is  almost  in  despair.  I  tell  her  that 
youth  has  its  distractions  which  momentarily  make  one 
forgetful  of  old  ties  and  obligations.  She  seems  to  have 
some  sort  of  fancy  that  a  feminine  distraction  may  be  the 
explanation  of  your  long  absence,  and  is  jealous  of  the 
unknown,  an  unphilosophic  attitude  of  mind  with  which 
the  mere  male  cannot  possibly  cope.  She  cannot  be 
made  to  understand  that  pleasure  is  evanescent,  and 
that  satiety  is  avant  courier  to  philosophy.  I  am  not 
surprised  that  you  find  your  hands  full;  indeed,  I  am 
glad  to  think  that  you  must  be  acquiring  a  rich  store  of 
information  which  will  be  of  the  greatest  service  in  our 
future  operations.  En  passant,  if  you  see  anything  of 
mine  old  enemy,  do  your  best  to  cultivate  the  acquaint- 
ance. I  have  a  scheme  in  my  mind  which  I  think  may 
enable  me  to  pay  my  debt  in  full.  But  more  of  that 
when  we  meet.  I  am  in  no  hurry.  Revenge  is  so  sweet 
a  morsel  that  one  rolls  it  on  the  tongue,  instead  of  bolt- 
ing it  whole,  so  I'll  tell  you  about  my  idea  when  we 
return  to  town,  for  I  am  going  to  take  Myra  away  for 
a  few  days.  She  seems  a  little  pale,  and  sea  breezes 
with  companionship  (of  the  other  sex)  is  almost  invari- 
ably a  specific  for  a  sentimental  malady.  We  go  to 


172  THE   MASTER   CRIMINAL 

Scarborough  to-day,  but  we  shall  be  back  in  a  fortnight. 
Let  us  see  you  immediately  we  return." 

When  Guy  laid  down  the  letter  the  sparkle  had  gone 
out  of  the  cup  of  his  enjoyment.  He  did  not  conceive 
that  the  writer  of  the  letter  had  been  fully  conversant 
with  all  his  plans.  He  credited  Hora  with  trusting  him 
as  fully  as  he  trusted  Hora.  To  imagine  that  the  Com- 
mandatore  had  set  a  spy  upon  his  movements  never  en- 
tered into  his  calculations.  He  had  no  suspicions  that 
the  obsequious  Jessel  who  waited  upon  him  so  attentively 
was  other  than  he  seemed.  So,  in  following  the  dic- 
tates of  his  heart,  he  felt  that  he  was  acting  treacherously 
to  his  father,  while  if  he  were  to  fulfil  his  father's 
desires  he  would  sink  unutterably  in  his  own  estima- 
tion. Between  what  he  considered  his  duty  and  his 
inclination,  his  mind  was  in  turmoil. 

The  thought  of  Meriel  expecting  him  proved  the  dom- 
inant factor  in  his  ultimate  decision.  While  hesitating 
whether  or  no  to  telegraph  an  excuse  for  not  keeping  his 
appointment,  Jessel  announced  that  he  was  going  on 
with  the  luggage.  At  that  moment  Guy  formed  the 
resolution  definitely  and  absolutely  that  he  would  have 
done  with  the  past. 

The  resolution  strengthened  on  his  journey.  If  Lyn- 
ton  Hora  could  have  known  the  effect  his  letter  had  pro- 
duced he  might  have  hesitated  before  he  posted  it.  But 
he  had  only  suspected  some  weakening  of  Guy's  enthu- 
siasm, and  he  had  thought  that  a  reminder  would  be 
quite  sufficient  to  recall  Guy's  errant  fancy.  Perhaps 
had  he  not  trained  Guy,  for  his  own  protection,  to  so 
honest  a  conception  of  loyalty  to  his  friends,  the  subtle 
poison  of  his  letter  might  have  produced  the  effect  he 


173 

had  intended.  As  it  happened,  the  suggestion  Hora 
had  desired  to  convey,  that  Meriel  should  be  a  temporary 
distraction,  to  be  tossed  lightly  aside  when  it  suited  his 
purpose,  never  came  home  to  Guy.  The  further  sug- 
gestion, that  Myra  was  waiting  and  longing  for  him,  did, 
however,  affect  him  unpleasantly,  even  though  he  could 
truthfully  declare  that  he  had  never  given  her  reason  to 
imagine  that  his  affection  towards  her  was  more  than 
brotherly. 

The  final  suggestion  that  he  should  insinuate  himself 
into  the  confidence  of  the  Marvens  in  order  to  minister 
to  Hora's  scheme  of  revenge  was,  however,  the  cul- 
minating point.  His  whole  nature  revolted  at  the 
thought.  Though  by  his  early  training  he  saw  nothing 
wrong  in  preying  upon  the  world,  instinctively  his  mind 
rebelled  at  the  idea  of  victimising  his  friends.  Though 
the  world  might  dub  him  thief — he  would  have  shrugged 
his  shoulders  in  amusement  at  the  world's  folly  in  doing 
so — yet  his  sense  of  honour  was  far  keener  than  that  of 
the  majority  of  those  who  would  have  thrown  the  epithet 
at  him,  Captain  Marven,  henceforward,  should  be  secure, 
so  far  as  he  was  concerned.  There  was  no  obligation 
upon  him  to  take  upon  himself  the  burden  of  another 
man's  quarrel,  even  though  that  other  man  were  his  own 
father.  The  philosophic  Commandatore  himself  would 
necessarily  admit  the  logic  of  such  a  decision. 

Busied  with  such  thoughts,  it  seemed  to  Guy  that  he 
had  hardly  entered  the  cab  before  it  stopped  at  the  rail- 
way station.  He  had  no  intention  of  turning  back. 
Jessel  was  awaiting  him  on  the  platform.  He  saw  his 
master  into  his  seat  and  retired  to  another  compart- 
ment, where  he  had  reserved  a  corner  seat  for  himself. 


174  THE   MASTER   CRIMINAL 

Guy  had  given  him  no  instructions  to  proceed  beyond 
the  railway  station,  so  Cornelius  decided  that  he  might 
just  as  well  take  it  for  granted  that  he  was  to  accompany 
his  master,  particularly  as  Hora  had  impressed  upon 
him  the  necessity  for  obtaining  exact  information  re- 
garding Guy's  relationship  with  the  members  of  the 
Marven  household.  Still  busied  with  his  train  of  ideas, 
Guy  did  not  bestow  another  thought  upon  his  valet. 

The  train  wandered  but  slowly  onwards  to  its  des- 
tination, far  too  slowly  for  Guy's  desires,  but  Whitsea 
was  off  the  main  route  to  anywhere,  and  the  railway 
service  was  the  minimum  which  a  sleepy-headed  man- 
agement thought  would  serve  the  necessities  of  the  sit- 
uation. But  at  last  Guy  knew  that  he  was  nearing  his 
destination.  The  country  stretched  out  flat  on  either  side 
of  the  railway  track,  unbroken  for  miles.  Through  the 
open  window  of  his  compartment  entered  the  cool  salt 
breath  of  the  sea.  On  his  right  a  gleam  of  silver  shone 
amidst  the  green  and  crimson  carpet  of  the  marsh  lands. 
The  silver  streak  broadened.  Now  it  bore  a  red-winged 
barge  on  its  bosom,  and  there  came  in  view  the  white 
wings  of  a  flight  of  small  craft  skimming  upon  the  water. 
Next  appeared  a  cluster  of  red-tiled,  red  brick  houses 
shimmering  in  the  heat.  The  train  drew  into  a  station,  a 
porter  roused  himself  from  his  afternoon  nap  and  strolled 
slowly  down  the  platform  calling  "  Whitsea !  Change  here 
for  Whitsea,"  in  a  melancholy  sing-song.  Guy  picked  up 
his  stick  and  alighted.  Would  Meriel  come  herself  to  meet 
him?  He  had  asked  the  question  of  himself  a  hundred 
times  on  the  journey,  and  a  hundred  times  had  told  him- 
self that  he  expected  far  too  much. 

But  Meriel  was  there,  and  the  delight  in  his  heart 


GUY   MAKES   A  RESOLUTION  175 

showed  in  his  eyes  as  he  went  forward  with  outstretched 
hand  to  welcome  her.  Her  eyes  dropped  under  his  ar- 
dent glance,  and  the  colour  flushed  her  cheek.  Guy  had 
seen  no  one  but  Meriel.  Another  voice  recalled  his  wan- 
dering faculties. 

"  I  am  just  as  delighted  to  welcome  you  to  Whitsea, 
Mr.  Hora,  as  Meriel  can  be." 

It  was  Guy's  turn  to  flush,  as  he  half  turned  to  meet 
Mrs.  Marven's  kindly  glance. 

"  I  only  saw  Miss  Challys,"  he  remarked  simply. 

"  That  was  quite  obvious,"  replied  Mrs.  Marven,  as 
she  took  Guy's  hand,  "  and  I  am  inclined  to  think  that 
if  I  had  been  in  your  place  I  shouldn't  have  seen  anyone 
else,  either.  She  is  a  pretty  picture,  isn't  she  ?  "  There 
was  a  tender  inflection  in  her  voice  which  put  Guy  at 
his  ease. 

"  There  can  be  no  two  opinions  about  that,"  he  an- 
swered heartily. 

"  Auntie  would  make  me  vain,  if  I  were  not  so  al- 
ready," said  the  girl  demurely,  as  she  thrust  her  arm 
in  Mrs.  Marven's.  "  If  you'll  just  tell  the  porter 
which  is  your  luggage,  he  will  see  that  it  is  sent  on.  We 
are  not  more  than  half  a  mile  from  the  station,  and  we 
thought  you  would  like  to  walk  to  the  Hall." 

"  Nothing  could  suit  me  better,"  declared  Guy. 

They  strolled  along  the  platform  talking.  Guy's  kit 
bag  and  dressing  case  were  tossed  out  on  the  platform, 
and  Jessel  was  already  mounting  guard  over  them.  Guy 
did  not  recognise  his  servant  until  he  was  close  to  him. 
His  surprise  was  apparent  in  the  tone  of  his  voice. 

"  Hullo,  Jessel !  "  he  said.  "  What  on  earth  are  you 
doing  here  ?  " 


176  THE   MASTER   CRIMINAL 

The  man  touched  his  hat.  "  Beg  your  pardon,  sir," 
he  said.  "  Didn't  you  intend  me  to  come  ?  You  said 
nothing,  so  of  course " 

Guy  interrupted  him.  "  I  thought  I  had  told  you ! 
But  it  doesn't  matter.  Just  see  that  the  porter  has  my 
luggage  all  right.  You  can  get  the  next  train  back." 

He  turned  away.  Cornelius  touched  his  hat.  His 
face  expressed  disappointment.  Mrs.  Marven  observed 
his  fallen  countenance  and  came  to  the  rescue. 

"  I  ought  to  have  told  you  to  bring  your  man  with 
you,"  she  remarked  to  Guy,  "  and  unless  you  have  some- 
thing you  want  him  to  do  for  you,  you  had  better  let 
him  come  to  the  Hall.  I  know  that  the  Captain's  man 
will  be  delighted  that  you  have  brought  him,  for  I  don't 
mind  telling  you  now,  that  he  detests  valeting  anyone 
but  his  own  master." 

With  a  word  of  thanks  Guy  dismissed  the  subject 
from  his  thoughts.  He  was  supremely  indifferent  to 
Jessel's  presence.  Meriel  was  beside  him.  Nothing  else 
mattered. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

STAR-DUST 

WHITSEA  lies  on  the  estuary  of  one  of  those  Essex 
rivers  which  flow  into  the  North  Sea  through  a  wilder- 
ness of  shallows.  The  visitor  who  goes  to  it  expecting 
to  find  any  one  of  the  ordinary  attractions  of  the  average 
seaside  watering-place  may  make  up  his  mind  to  be 
wofully  disappointed.  But  the  visitor  with  a  delight  in 
the  unconventional  and  the  unhackneyed  need  not  fear 
boredom.  The  salt  marshes  which  border  the  river  for 
miles  have  a  wild  beauty  entirely  their  own.  Flowers 
grow  there  as  if  the  sea  were  no  enemy  to  them.  Then 
the  six  miles  of  sheltered  water  which  lie  between  Whit- 
sea  and  the  sea  give  protection  from  wild  weather, 
which  the  yachtsman  is  not  slow  to  appreciate.  So  when, 
the  days  begin  to  lengthen  the  Whitsea  River  begins  to  be 
alive  with  sailing  craft,  and  when  the  summer  days 
really  come,  it  has  a  population  which  lives  entirely  upon 
the  water. 

At  Whitsea  the  Hall  was  the  most  prominent  resi- 
dence, even  as  Captain  Marven  was  the  most  distin- 
guished inhabitant.  It  was  just  a  simple,  kindly  English 
house,  at  one  with  its  simple,  kindly  English  inhabitants. 
The  life  there  was  a  revelation  to  Guy.  Never  before 
had  he  known  what  it  was  to  be  an  inmate  of  a  pure 
unpretentious  English  country  home. 

"  You  will  find  us  dull,  I  am  afraid,"  had  been  Mrs. 

177 


178  THE    MASTER   CRIMINAL 

Marven's  warning  when  she  had  invited  him,  "  for  ex- 
cepting some  sailing  and  later  in  the  year  a  little  rough 
shooting  Whitsea  has  no  attractions." 

Dull!  Guy  had  never  found  a  life  so  full.  Every 
moment  of  the  day  provided  a  new  item  of  interest. 

The  house  itself  was  a  haven  of  peace.  The  long,  low 
white  stone  structure  stood  on  a  little  knoll  looking  with 
all  its  many  eyes  in  the  face  of  the  southing  sun.  It  was 
girt  about  with  an  old  garden  where  the  scent  of  roses 
disputed  with  the  perfume  of  carnations  for  supremacy,  a 
garden  where  tall  white  lilies  stood  sentinel  over  serried 
ranks  of  sweet  peas,  and  gazed  down  unmoved  upon  the 
riot  of  colours  that  filled  the  borders.  Beyond  the  gar- 
den a  meadow  dropped  down  into  the  saltings,  and  be- 
yond the  saltings  the  sea  wall  kept  the  tides  at  bay,  and 
ever  the  sweet  fresh  breezes  dinted  the  surface  of  the 
water  and  lifted  the  petals  of  the  roses  and  whispered 
stories  of  the  ocean  in  the  ears  of  those  who  walked  in 
the  garden,  tempting  them  to  venture  forth  in  search  of 
the  places  where  they  were  born. 

Daily  two  of  the  inmates  of  the  Hall  responded  to 
the  temptation.  Meriel  loved  the  sea.  Guy  was  equally 
fervent  in  his  adoration,  and  there,  ever  before  them, 
was  the  means  of  gratifying  their  desires  in  the  shape 
of  the  graceful  ten-ton  cutter  Witch  lying  at  her  moor- 
ings opposite  the  house,  or  the  rightly  christened  little 
eighteen-footer  Dainty,  which  ever  seemed  to  chafe  at 
the  chain  which  saved  her  from  going  adrift.  Often- 
times Captain  Marven  made  one  of  the  party,  more  occa- 
sionally Mrs.  Marven  accompanied  them,  but  there  were 
occasions  when  Meriel  and  Guy  found  themselves  alone. 
Then  when  the  breeze  sang  in  Guy's  ears,  and  the  spray 


STAR-DUST  179 

tasted  salt  on  his  lips,  he  felt  a  mad  impulse  to  sail  on 
and  on  with  his  precious  cargo  right  away  out  of  the  old 
life  into  a  totally  new  one. 

The  two  young  people  were  drawn  very  close  together 
in  those  days.  Meriel  took  no  pains  to  conceal  the  plea- 
sure she  found  in  Guy's  companionship.  Guy  made  no 
effort  to  disguise  the  fact  that  life  held  only  one  hope  for 
him.  If  there  was  a  doubt  at  the  back  of  his  mind  that 
the  hope  was  foredoomed  to  be  disappointed,  he  put  it 
away.  He  would  be  happy  while  he  might.  Sorrow 
was  for  the  sad  days  of  autumn.  There  was  only  one 
jarring  note  in  the  symphony.  It  was  a  trifling  one  and 
did  not  affect  Meriel.  On  the  first  day  they  went  for  a 
sail  they  passed  an  excellently  appointed  steam  yacht 
lying  at  anchor  in  the  fairway  of  the  river.  A  figure 
immaculately  clad  in  blue  jacket  and  white  flannels 
raised  a  bridge-cap  as  they  passed. 

"  Hildebrand  Flurscheim,  by  all  that's  holy,"  remarked 
Guy. 

"  Still  searching  for  his  missing  pictures,"  said  Meriel 
laughing. 

The  thought  was  an  unpleasant  one.  But  Guy  was 
not  allowed  to  forget  it.  Flurscheim  found  out  that  the 
Marvens  were  at  their  house  and  he  called,  and,  unde- 
terred by  a  cool  reception,  called  again.  Guy  could  not 
help  but  realise  that  if  his  host  and  hostess  had  been 
aware  that  he  was  the  burglar  who  had  raided  the  con- 
noisseur's treasure-house,  the  coolness  accorded  Flur- 
scheim would  be  nothing  to  the  reception  he  might 
expect. 

But  Captain  and  Mrs.  Marven  would  have  both  been 
horrified  at  the  mere  suggestion  that  Guy  could  be  guilty 


i8o  THE   MASTER   CRIMINAL 

of  such  a  deed.  They  were  fully  cognisant  of  the  love- 
story  developing  under  their  eyes,  acquiescing  smilingly. 
They  anticipated  an  idyll.  They  had  watched  Guy  care- 
fully, and  they  had  seen  no  fault  in  him.  He  had  an 
unblemished  university  career  and  was  apparently  suf- 
ficiently endowed  with  this  world's  goods.  He  seemed 
chivalrous,  honourable,  and,  above  all,  deeply  in  love. 
Thinking  of  the  days  of  their  own  wooing,  they  antici- 
pated a  happy  union. 

A  week*  passed,  the  second  week  was  near  its  end, 
when  a  shadow  was  cast  on  the  sunlight  of  Guy's  hap- 
piness, and  again  the  gloom  was  produced  by  a  letter 
from  Hora,  forwarded  to  him  from  his  chambers. 

"  We  shall  be  home  on  the  Monday,"  wrote  the  Com- 
mandatore.  "  Please  come  and  see  me  on  the  Tuesday 
at  latest,  for  I  have  now  completed  my  plans,  and 
nothing  remains  but  to  put  them  into  execution.  Again 
let  me  remind  you  to  do  your  best  to  cultivate  the  Mar- 
ven  people,  if  the  opportunity  arises.  Any  knowledge 
you  may  acquire  concerning  them  is  likely  to  prove  use- 
ful." 

Guy  took  the  letter  with  him  into  the  open,  where  he 
tore  it  into  tiny  fragments  and  scattered  them  to  the 
breeze.  Cornelius  Jessel  from  Guy's  bedroom  window 
watched  the  flying  fragments  longingly.  So  also  did 
another  man  who,  seated  on  the  sea  wall  some  hundred 
yards  away,  was  just  near  enough  to  realise  what  Guy 
was  doing.  But  neither  Cornelius  nor  the  stranger 
made  any  efforts  to  recover  the  fragments.  Detective 
Inspector  Kenly  had  no  desire  to  call  attention  in  so 
pointed  a  fashion  to  the  fact  that  he  was  visiting  Whit- 
sea. 


STAR-DUST  181 

Guy  was  unaware  of  the  dual  observation,  even  as 
Jessel  was  unaware  that  his  late  landlord  was  so  near  to 
him.  His  action  was  merely  prompted  by  an  outbreak 
of  anger  at  the  despicable  part  he  was  expected  to  play. 
He  did  not  at  first  remember  that  he  had  not  told  the 
Commandatore  of  his  projected  visit.  His  anger  passed, 
for  he  thought  that  the  expectation  was  founded  on  a 
misapprehension.  But  the  reiteration  of  Hora's  inten- 
tion, his  renewal  of  the  belief  that  he,  Guy,  would  be 
as  ready  as  heretofore  to  participate  in  the  carrying  out 
of  his  plans  warned  Guy  that  he  must  no  longer  delay 
coming  to  an  explanation  with  the  Commandatore.  Hora 
had  named  a  date.  That  date  would  suit  Guy  as  well  as 
another.  It  would  not  be  fair  to  his  father  to  delay  any 
longer. 

Guy  was  unusually  silent  that  morning,  and  when 
Meriel  joined  him  she  was  surprised  that  he  should  be 
so  preoccupied.  She  feared  to  rally  him  on  the  subject, 
for  she  suspected  a  reason  for  his  preoccupation  which 
she  would  not  name  to  herself. 

They  went  aboard  the  Witch  about  nine  o'clock. 
There  was  a  fair  wind  from  the  north,  the  tide  had  just 
begun  to  ebb  and  there  was  every  promise  of  an  ideal 
day.  Gradually  Guy's  preoccupation  melted  away.  It 
was  impossible  to  remain  preoccupied  on  a  brilliant  sum- 
mer morning  in  Meriel's  presence.  By  the  time  they 
had  cast  off  their  moorings  he  was  chattering  away 
freely  as  ever.  Hora  was  forgotten  for  a  while.  He 
was  remembered  later. 

"  I  must  be  going  back  to  town  on  Tuesday,"  Guy 
said  in  reply  to  a  suggestion  of  some  proposed  trip  for 
the  ensuing  week. 


182  THE    MASTER   CRIMINAL 

"  Going  back  to  town,"  remarked  Meriel.  There  was 
more  than  surprise,  there  was  regret  in  her  tone. 

"  I  shall  hate  to  do  so,"  said  Guy,  "  but  I  had  a  letter 
from  my  father  this  morning  and  he  particularly  wishes 
to  see  me." 

Guy's  voice  had  unconsciously  hardened  as  he  spoke. 
His  brow  was  knitted  and  his  lips  were  compressed.  He 
looked  up  and  he  caught  sight  of  a  something  in  her 
eyes  which  chased  away  the  frown. 

"  Of  course,  you  must  go  then,"  said  Meriel. 

Guy  responded  to  the  regretful  note  in  the  girl's  voice. 

"  You  will  be  sorry  to  lose  me  ?  "  he  asked  eagerly. 

The  ghost  of  a  blush  fluttered  for  a  moment  on  her 
cheeks. 

"  We  shall  all  be  very  sorry,"  she  answered  equiv- 
ocally. Guy  was  about  to  press  the  personal  question 
home,  but  the  sails  shivered.  Meriel  glanced  upward. 
"  Give  me  the  tiller,"  she  said.  "  You  are  steering  aw- 
fully badly  this  morning.  Why,  you've  let  the  Witch 
run  right  up  into  the  wind." 

Guy  laughed  as  he  vacated  his  post  at  the  helm.  For 
the  moment  he  was  satisfied.  He  had  seen  an  answer  in 
Meriel's  eyes  to  his  unspoken  question  which  set  his 
mind  at  rest.  Before  the  day  was  out  that  question 
should  be  answered,  but  the  time  was  not  yet. 

The  Witch  flew  along,  bending  over  to  the  breeze. 
The  river  widened  and  the  banks  fell  away.  The  cut- 
ter begun  to  curtsey  to  the  waves,  and  now  and  again 
a  spatter  of  spray  was  tossed  high  in  the  air.  Guy  took 
the  tiller  again  and  Meriel  unpacked  the  luncheon  bas- 
ket. With  appetites  sharpened  by  the  breeze  they  pic- 
nicked on  deck.  They  still  pressed  onward  until  the 


STAR-DUST  183 

houses  on  the  white  cliff  before  them  begun  to  be 
plainly  visible.  Meriel  looked  at  her  watch. 

"  We  are  very  near  Clacton,  and  it  is  two  o'clock,"  she 
remarked.  "  Isn't  it  time  we  thought  about  returning  ?  " 
she  added  regretfully. 

The  summer  breeze  began  to  show  a  disposition  to 
change,  veering  to  the  east.  Guy  put  the  helm  down 
and  went  about.  The  wind  veered  still  more,  though  it 
still  held.  Guy  gave  the  mainsail  more  sheet,  and  the 
Witch  ran  merrily  before  the  breeze  over  the  slackening 
tide.  An  hour  passed  and  the  wind  became  perceptibly 
lighter.  The  afternoon  sun  shone  down  from  a  cloudless 
sky,  while  a  purple  heat  haze  gathered  on  the  horizon. 

"  Luckily  we  turned  back  when  we  did,"  said  Meriel. 
"  We  shall  hardly  get  home  on  the  tide  even  now. 
Hadn't  we  better  set  the  spinaker  ?  " 

Guy  acceded  to  the  request.  The  breeze  freshened 
again,  and  for  another  hour  the  water  rippled  musically 
under  their  bows.  Then  the  breeze  died  away  com- 
pletely. 

Guy  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  There's  nothing  for  it 
but  a  policy  of  masterly  inaction,"  he  said.  "  Don't  you 
think  it  is  time  for  a  cup  of  tea  ?  " 

He  relinquished  the  tiller  to  his  companion  and  dived 
below  to  light  the  stove,  and  place  the  kettle  upon  it. 
By  the  time  the  kettle  boiled  an  absolute  calm  had 
fallen,  the  sea  might  have  served  as  a  mirror,  the  sails 
hung  straight  and  still,  the  heat  had  become  almost  op- 
pressive. 

Neither  Meriel  nor  Guy  were  troubled.  They  were  to- 
gether, and  although  the  boat  seemed  motionless  they 
were  drifting  homewards.  Guy  especially  was  in  no 


184  THE   MASTER   CRIMINAL 

anxiety  to  return.  Tea  drunk  and  the  cups  washed  and 
put  away,  Guy  brought  cushions  from  the  cabin  and 
made  a  comfortable  couch  on  deck  for  Meriel,  while  he 
sat  by  the  helm  looking  down  upon  her. 

Their  talk  became  personal.  Mend's  confidences  were 
those  of  a  pure-hearted  girl,  and  Guy,  listening,  longed 
to  repay  confidence  with  confidence.  If  he  only  dared! 
But  his  risks  were  too  great.  How  could  this  pure  girl 
be  brought  to  comprehend  his  point  of  view?  Yet  he 
knew  that  some  day  he  must  make  the  effort.  Perhaps 
if  she  cared  enough  for  him  she  might  strive  to  under- 
stand. If  she  cared  enough!  Yes,  that  was  the  whole 
question.  Her  views  were  so  totally  opposed  to  those 
which  he  had  imbibed  from  his  earliest  youth,  those 
which  he  knew  now  to  be  hopelessly  wrong — not  through 
any  intellectual  conviction,  but  merely  by  his  intuition  of 
what  would  be  his  companion's  attitude  towards  them. 
He  would  make  her  understand  how  he  came  to  have 
held  such  views  and  where  they  had  led  him.  But  not 
if  she  did  not  care.  He  could  not  win  her  under  false 
pretences.  She  must  know  all  about  him,  exactly  what 
he  was,  the  hidden  life  which  none  save  Lynton  Hora 
and  Myra  knew.  Yet  first  he  must  know  if  she  did  care 
for  him,  otherwise  such  confidence  would  be  treachery  to 
Hora.  His  thoughts  constrained  him  to  silence.  When 
his  replies  became  monosyllabic  Meriel  looking  up  saw 
that  his  countenance  had  become  overcast.  She,  too,  be- 
came silent 

The  boat  drifted. 

Meriel  lay  back  on  the  cushions.  Her  eyes  half-closed. 
She  wondered  what  thought  could  be  troubling  her 
companion.  She  glanced  up  again  and  met  his  eyes. 


STAR-DUST  185 

"  Something  is  troubling  you,"  she  demanded  sud- 
denly. 

"  Yes,  something  is  troubling  me,"  answered  Guy 
moodily.  With  an  impulsive  gesture  the  girl  held  out 
her  hand.  Guy  grasped  it.  The  little  sunbrowned  hand 
was  not  withdrawn. 

"  Can  I  help  ?  "  she  asked  quietly. 

"  I  cannot  tell,"  he  replied.  "  Until "  The  mo- 
ment had  arrived  when  he  felt  that  he  must  give  utter- 
ance to  his  thoughts  or  remain  forever  silent.  He  braced 
himself  to  the  effort.  His  voice  was  almost  harsh. 

"  Meriel,"  he  said.  She  started  at  the  sound  of  her 
name  on  his  lips.  "  Meriel "  He  paused. 

There  was  no  coquetry  in  her  nature.  She  under- 
stood the  unspoken  thought  as  clearly  as  if  it  had  been 
vocalised  in  a  flood  of  eloquence. 

"  Guy,"  she  answered  shyly. 

The  one  musical  syllable  was  sufficient.  Their  glances 
met.  Each  read  in  the  other's  eyes  the  words  they 
longed  to  hear.  Lips  closed  on  lips. 

The  sun  shone  down  fiercely.    The  boat  drifted. 

"  Then  you  do  care  for  me  ?  "  Guy  asked  presently. 

"  Do  I  care  ? "  Meriel  looked  happily  into  his  face. 
"  If  anyone  were  to  tell  you  that  the  sea  had  become  dry 
you  might  sooner  believe  the  tale  than  that  I  should 
have  ceased  to  care  for  you." 

"  That  is  love,"  said  Guy.  "  I  know,  for  my  love  for 
you  is  also  greater  than  the  ocean." 

She  was  seated  beside  him.  One  hand  was  on  the 
tiller,  the  other  encircled  her  waist  and  she  leaned  her 
head  on  his  shoulder  with  a  sigh  of  content.  The  wester- 
ing sun  was  dropping  to  the  horizon,  and  on  the  path  of 


186  THE   MASTER   CRIMINAL 

gold  it  painted  on  the  waters  the  boat  still  drifted.  Was 
this  to  be  the  omen  of  their  future  lot?  In  his  rapture 
Guy  thrust  away  all  disturbing  memories.  He  loved 
and  he  was  beloved.  Nothing  could  alter  thac  one  fact. 
The  whole  world  was  transformed  for  him.  The  sun 
dropped  lower  still.  A  rosy  flush  crept  into  the  sky. 
The  sea,  unflecked  by  a  single  ripple,  glowed  with  opal 
fires.  Nothing  broke  the  stillness.  Meriel,  too,  lived 
her  brief  hour  in  love's  fairyland. 

The  boat  still  drifted.  The  mouth  of  the  Whitsea 
River  was  narrowing  in  upon  them.  The  sea  wall  stood 
up  blackly  against  the  pellucid  sky.  The  sun  went  down 
behind  the  purple  bank  of  mist.  The  colours  faded.  The 
sweet  grey  calm  of  summer  twilight  spread  its  mantle 
over  the  water.  From  somewhere  on  the  shore  a  sand- 
piper called  to  his  mate. 

Meriel  awoke  to  reality  with  a  start. 

"  We  shall  never  make  our  moorings  to-night,  Guy," 
she  cried.  "  It  must  be  eight  o'clock,  and  we  are  quite 
four  miles  from  home." 

"  I  should  be  quite  content,  dear,"  he  answered,  "  to 
drift  along  forever." 

"  You  would  tell  another  tale  when  you  came  to  exam- 
ine our  store  of  provisions,"  she  answered  merrily. 

Guy  looked  at  his  watch.  "The  tide  will  run  for 
another  half  hour,"  he  said.  "  No,  unless  a  breeze 
should  spring  up  the  Witch  will  never  make  Whitsea 
to-night." 

"We  shall  have  to  leave  her,"  answered  Meriel 
promptly. 

"  Why  not  wait  for  the  next  tide  ?  "  urged  Guy. 

"  No,  Auntie  will  be  so  anxious,"  the  girl  replied.  "  If 


STAR-DUST  187 

we  drop  anchor  here  and  stow  away  comfortably  we  can 
easily  row  home  in  the  dingey." 

Guy  stood  up  and  glanced  around  the  horizon.  The 
air  was  perfectly  still.  There  was  not  a  movement  in  the 
sails. 

"  We'll  let  her  drift  so  long  as  the  tide  makes,  and 
meanwhile  I'll  make  things  snug,"  said  Guy.  The  blocks 
creaked  musically  as  he  gathered  in  foresail  and  jib. 
The  topsail  fluttered  to  the  deck.  It  was  warmer  work 
getting  in  the  mainsail  and  darkness  was  gathering  rap- 
idly. But  the  canvas  was  stowed  away  at  last,  the  hal- 
liards made  fast,  every  rope  coiled  away  in  its  place. 

"  The  tide  is  on  the  turn,"  said  Meriel.  "  If  we  can 
edge  in  a  little  nearer  the  south  shore  the  Witch  will  lie 
as  safely  as  she  would  on  her  moorings." 

Guy  hauled  up  the  chain  and  cast  the  anchor  loose. 
"  When  you  are  ready,  dear,"  he  said. 

"  You  may  let  go,"  she  cried  a  minute  later.  The 
anchor  dropped  with  a  heavy  splash  and  the  rattle  of  the 
chain  as  Guy  paid  it  out  seemed  almost  a  desecration  of 
the  silence.  When  the  anchor  held,  Guy  once  more  went 
below  to  trim  and  light  the  riding  lamp.  By  the  time  his 
job  was  finished  and  the  lamp  was  swung,  the  sky  had 
gained  a  deeper  tint  of  blue  and  the  stars  had  begun  to 
sparkle.  He  drew  the  dingey  alongside  and  held  out  his 
hand  to  Meriel. 

"  You  must  let  me  take  one  oar,"  she  said  as  she 
stepped  into  the  boat.  "  It  will  be  a  stiff  pull  against  the 
tide." 

"  When  I  am  tired  I'll  tell  you,"  he  answered. 

He  looked  regretfully  at  the  cutter  as  he  dipped  his 
oars. 


188  THE   MASTER   CRIMINAL 

"  It  seems  ungracious  to  leave  her,"  he  said,  "  since 
the  happiest  moments  of  my  life  have  been  passed  aboard 
her." 

"  Good  old  Witch/'  replied  Meriel  softly. 

Night's  mantle  of  darkness  and  silence  enwrapped 
them.  The  stars  studded  the  moonless  sky,  the  plunk 
of  the  oars  in  the  rowlocks  and  the  drip  of  the  water 
from  the  blades  alone  disturbed  the  perfect  stillness. 
The  boat  drove  onwards,  leaving  a  trail  of  light  in  its 
wake.  The  darkness  had  made  yet  another  of  nature's 
marvels  manifest.  The  water  was  full  of  phosphorescent 
light.  Guy  rested  on  his  oars.  Meriel  lifted  a  handful 
of  water  and  poured  it  back  into  the  sea.  It  was  as  if 
she  had  poured  out  a  handful  of  gems.  She  threw  a 
handful  of  the  diamonds  in  the  air,  and  every  gem  as  it 
fell  again  into  the  water  struck  gleams  of  light  from  the 
surface.  They  leaned  over  the  side  of  the  boat,  and  here 
and  there  in  the  blackness  the  lights  sparkled  for  a  mo- 
ment and  were  hidden  again. 

"  The  water  is  full  of  star-dust,"  said  Meriel.  "  See !  " 
she  added  eagerly.  Guy  followed  the  direction  of  her 
outstretched  finger. 

A  phantom  form  lighting  its  way  beneath  the  surface 
sailed  by,  a  myriad  of  the  sparkling  points  accompany- 
ing it. 

"  Even  the  sea  has  its  spirits,"  she  remarked. 

"On  a  night  like  this  it  is  possible  to  idealise  even  a 
jelly  fish,"  he  answered  whimsically. 

He  took  again  to  the  oars.  Few  words  were  spoken 
between  them. 

They  came  at  last  to  their  landing  place.  Guy  made 
the  boat  fast  and  joined  Meriel  on  the  bank.  He  clasped 


STAR-DUST  189 

her  lightly  in  his  arms.  "  Tell  me  you  love  me,  Meriel," 
he  demanded  almost  fiercely. 

Her  assurance  was  whispered  only,  but  Guy  recog- 
nised an  intensity  as  great  as  his  own.  He  held  her 
closely  to  him. 

"  I  have  something  to — say,"  he  told  her.  "  I  cannot 
ask  you  to  marry  me," — the  words  were  wrung  from  him. 
— "  ujitil  I  have  told  you  something  about  myself  which 
you  do  not  suspect." 

She  did  not  move  in  his  embrace.  He  could  see  her 
eyes  shining  in  the  darkness. 

"  Nothing  you  could  tell  me  would  make  any  differ- 
ence, Guy,"  she  answered. 

A  sharp  pain  stabbed  his  heart.  "  I  am  not  worthy, 
Meriel,"  he  said.  "And  I  fear  that  to-morrow  you 
will  tell  me  so." 

"  As  if  it  were  possible,"  she  answered. 

"  I  have  been  very  happy  to-day,"  he  continued.  "  Such 
happiness  cannot  last.  When  you  know  what  I  am  in 
reality  you  will  be  glad  to  forget  me." 

This  was  more  than  the  detraction  of  the  ardent  lover. 
Meriel  realised  that  there  was  the  note  of  real  suffering 
in  his  voice.  She  waited  almost  with  dread  for  him  to 
continue.  And  Guy  was  upon  the  point  of  pouring  out 
his  whole  story.  But  the  chance  passed.  A  voice  hailed 
them  from  the  lawn  of  the  Hall. 

"Is  that  you,  Meriel?" 

"  Auntie  is  watching  for  our  return/'  she  said  shyly. 
"Come." 

Guy  followed  her  along  the  path  to  the  house. 

"  To-morrow,"  he  said  and  she  understood. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

CORNELIUS  JESSEL  DREAMS  OF  A  FORTUNE 

THE  morning  was  heavy  with  an  almost  unnatural 
calm.  By  nine  o'clock  the  sun's  rays  glowed  with  the  in- 
tensity of  noon.  The  flowers  drooped  their  heads  and 
the  leaves  hung  listlessly.  Cornelius  Jessel,  passing  out 
of  the  back  way  from  the  Hall,  on  his  way  to  the  post- 
office,  had  not  covered  a  dozen  yards  before  he  paused  to 
mop  his  brow  with  his  handkerchief.  He  bore  with  him 
the  letter  in  which  Guy  announced  to  Hora  his  intention 
of  returning  to  town.  It  was  the  briefest  of  notes,  dis- 
closing nothing  of  the  intention  of  the  writer.  But  it 
was  not  the  only  letter  which  Jessel  carried.  In  the 
other  envelope  was  the  report  which  the  shadow  man 
had  penned  to  the  Master.  The  envelope  was  stamped 
and  sealed,  but  Cornelius  took  it  from  his  pocket  and 
looked  at  it  and  frowned.  He  replaced  it  in  his  pocket 
and  proceeded  on  his  way.  He  did  not  know  whether 
to  post  it  or  not.  For  the  first  time  since  he  had  under- 
taken the  part  of  spy  upon  Guy's  actions  he  had  wilfully 
suppressed  an  item  of  information  which  had  come  into 
his  possession  concerning  Guy.  It  was  such  an  impor- 
tant item  of  information,  too.  So  important  that  he  had 
gasped  for  breath  when  he  realised  what  the  discovery 
he  had  made  really  meant. 

On  the  previous  afternoon  and  evening  he  had  taken 
advantage  of  Guy's  absence  to  make  a  careful  examina- 
tion of  his  master's  property.  He  had  frequently  done 

190 


CORNELIUS   JESSEL   DREAMS  191 

so  before,  but  without  discovering  anything  of  any  in- 
terest. But  on  this  occasion  he  was  more  fortunate.  He 
had  long  been  curious  concerning  the  contents  of  a  little 
silver-bound  box  which  reposed  in  a  corner  of  Guy's 
dressing  case.  He  had  oftentimes  made  discreet  attempts 
to  pick  the  lock  but  without  success,  and  he  dared  not 
venture  on  forcing  it  lest  by  damaging  the  box  he  should 
excite  suspicion.  He  guessed  that  sooner  or  later  he 
would  get  the  opportunity  he  desired  for  examining  the 
contents  of  the  little  casket,  and  the  occasion  had  ar- 
rived at  last.  Guy  had  left  his  keys  on  the  dressing 
table  and  one  of  the  bunch  fitted  the  lock. 

When  the  lid  was  opened,  Cornelius,  at  first  sight  of 
its  contents,  gave  a  sniff  indicative  of  disgust.  He  saw 
a  little  lace  handkerchief,  a  glove,  an  opera  programme, 
a  few  withered  rose  leaves,  and  an  infinite  contempt  for 
the  young  man  he  served  swept  over  him.  There  was 
no  trace  of  sentiment  hidden  away  in  the  heart  of  Cor- 
nelius. But  when  he  tossed  the  trumpery  aside  he  drew 
a  long  breath  of  surprise.  Beneath  the  valueless  trifles 
was  concealed  an  article  of  price — a  little  golden  frame 
enclosing  an  exquisite  miniature  on  ivory  of  a  girl  with  a 
wealth  of  fair  hair,  the  painting  surrounded  with  a  cir- 
clet of  brilliants.  At  first  he  did  not  grasp  the  signifi- 
cance of  the  discovery.  The  likeness  of  the  miniature 
to  Meriel  Challys  seemed  to  him  a  full  explanation  as 
to  why  it  should  be  in  his  employer's  possession.  But 
as  he  turned  the  frame  over  in  his  hand,  counting  the 
stones  in  the  setting,  weighing  the  trinket  delicately  on 
two  fingers  to  estimate  the  weight  of  the  gold,  he  re- 
membered that  somewhere  he  had  seen  a  description  of 
some  such  article.  Where  ?  He  had  not  to  rack  his  brain 


192  THE   MASTER   CRIMINAL 

very  long  before  he  was  able  to  recall  where  he  had  seen 
the  miniature  described.  Like  many  another  person 
who  longs  for  the  prize  without  incurring  the  attendant 
risks,  Cornelius  had  assimilated  every  detail  which  had 
been  made  public  concerning  the  Flurscheim  robbery. 
His  mouth  had  watered  at  the  published  descriptions  of 
the  stolen  articles  and  now  here — if  he  was  not  greatly 
mistaken — was  one  of  them  in  his  own  hand. 

At  the  heels  of  this  thought  came  another  which  almost 
made  his  heart  cease  beating.  Five  thousand  pounds  re- 
ward! Five  thousand  pounds  had  been  offered  for  such 
information  as  would  lead  to  the  conviction  of  the  thief 
and  to  the  recovery  of  the  stolen  property.  Five — thou- 
sand— pounds !  Five  thousand  pounds  was  lying  waiting 
for  him,  Cornelius  Jessel.  Yet,  dazzled  as  he  was  by  the 
prospect  of  the  acquisition  of  such  wealth,  he  hesitated 
a  long  while  before  he  could  persuade  himself  to  make 
use  of  the  information  which  had  come  into  his  possession. 
It  was  the  thought  of  the  Master  which  gave  him  pause. 
In  view  of  the  discovery  which  he  had  made  he  began  to 
be  timorous.  He  could  no  longer  believe  that  the  Mas- 
ter's interest  in  Guy  Hora  was  the  interest  of  the  hawk  in 
the  pigeon.  Dimly  he  began  to  comprehend  that  unknow- 
ingly he  was  being  used  as  pawn  in  a  game  which  he  did 
not  comprehend.  Supposing  then  that  any  effort  of  his 
own  to  secure  that  five  thousand  pounds  should  run  coun- 
ter to  any  plan  of  the  Master's?  He  shivered  at  the 
thought,  for  he  had  a  very  real  fear  of  the  Master's 
capacity  for  mischief.  He  had  locked  the  miniature  and 
the  glove  and  the  rose  leaves  away  again  and  set  his 
wits  to  work  to  discover  a  plan  by  which  he  might  ob- 
tain the  five  thousand  pounds  without  the  fact  that  he 


193 

was  the  informer  being  disclosed  to  anybody.  The  more 
he  pondered  upon  the  subject  the  more  convinced  he  be- 
came that  fortune  was  within  his  grasp.  He  could  not 
have  made  the  discovery  at  a  more  opportune  moment. 
He  was  in  the  country  surrounded  by  a  lot  of  simple 
country  folk,  and  within  reach  was  the  victim  of  the 
burglary,  who  had  offered  the  reward.  What  better  plan 
could  be  conceived  than  that  of  taking  his  information 
straight  to  the  fountain  head?  He  would  then  be  able 
to  make  his  own  terms.  But  he  saw  that  it  would  be 
necessary  to  have  some  proof  of  the  correctness  of  his 
statements.  He  paid  another  visit  to  Guy's  dressing  case 
after  providing  himself  with  a  pencil  and  oiled  paper. 
With  these  he  made  a  series  of  tracings  of  the  miniature, 
and,  clumsy  as  they  were,  yet  he  trusted  that  they  might 
be  clear  enough  for  identification.  Thus  provided,  he 
determined  to  take  the  first  opportunity  afforded  him 
of  communicating  with  Mr.  Hildebrand  Flurscheim. 

The  determination  carried  with  it  as  a  necessary  corol- 
lary the  decision  to  keep  his  discovery  concealed  from 
everybody,  particularly  from  the  Master.  He  would 
have  felt  quite  easy  in  his  mind  if  he  could  have  assured 
himself  that  the  Master  was  not  already  acquainted  with 
the  fact  that  Guy  possessed  the  miniature.  On  the  other 
hand,  Cornelius  argued  that  it  was  quite  possible  that  the 
man  who  was  paying  him  to  keep  a  watch  upon  Guy 
might  be  actuated  by  dread  of  a  confederate  playing  him 
false.  That  was  a  strong  reason  why  he  should  not 
postpone  communicating  with  Flurscheim.  The  reward 
would  go  to  the  first  in  the  field  with  the  information. 
Then  if  the  Master  were  implicated,  and  if  he  should  be 
captured,  Cornelius  saw  safety  for  himself.  Therefore 


194  THE   MASTER   CRIMINAL 

vrhen  he  wrote  his  daily  report  to  the  Master  of  Guy's 
movements  he  entirely  omitted  to  mention  the  momen- 
tous discovery  he  had  made,  and  yet  so  terrified  was  he 
that  he  should  bring  his  employer's  vengeance  upon  him- 
self by  his  failure  to  report  it,  that  a  dozen  times  on  the 
way  to  the  postoffice  he  drew  the  letter  from  his  pocket 
and  looked  at  it  and  considered  whether  he  should  not 
reopen  the  envelope  and  add  the  information  which  he 
had  suppressed. 

Even  when  he  had  dropped  the  letter  into  the  box  he 
nearly  entered  the  postoffice  to  ask  for  it  back  again,  and 
only  prevented  himself  from  doing  so  by  declaring  to  him- 
self that  it  would  be  easy  to  give  the  information  there- 
after if  circumstances  pointed  to  the  desirability  of  his 
doing  so.  But  once  the  letter  was  posted  Cornelius  be- 
came bolder.  The  posting  of  the  letter  was  in  the  nature 
of  a  definite  act  committing  him  to  a  definite  policy.  It 
was  no  use  looking  back,  especially  with  the  prospect  of 
five  thousand  pounds  to  be  earned  by  merely  speaking  a 
few  words.  He  forgot  the  heat.  He  walked  briskly  away 
from  the  postoffice  towards  the  little  embankment  which 
Whitsea  village  proudly  designated  "  The  Front." 

It  seemed  hotter  than  ever  there.  The  tide  was  low 
and  the  air  shimmered  in  the  heat  reflected  from  the  sil- 
very banks  of  mud.  He  placed  his  hand  on  the  stone 
parapet  of  the  low  wall  and  drew  it  back  hastily.  The 
stone  was  nearly  hot  enough  to  have  blistered  his  hand. 
He  looked  out  on  the  river.  Almost  opposite  him  was 
Mr.  Hildebrand  Flurscheim's  yacht,  and  if  Cornelius's 
eyes  were  to  be  trusted  Mr.  Hildebrand  Flurscheim  him- 
self was  reclining  beneath  an  awning  on  the  deck.  The 
opportunity  was  too  good  to  be  missed.  Cornelius  looked 


CORNELIUS   JESSEL   DREAMS  195 

around  for  a  boatman  to  put  him  aboard.  There  was 
none  visible,  and  he  could  not  muster  up  courage  to  hail 
the  yacht.  The  Whitsea  hotel  showed  an  inviting  open 
door  just  handy.  Cornelius  felt  suddenly  thirsty.  He 
accepted  the  invitation  of  the  open  door,  and  while  he 
quenched  his  thirst  with  a  bottle  of  iced  ginger  beer 
with  something  in  it,  he  made  known  his  desire  to  be  ptrt 
aboard  Mr.  Flurscheim's  yacht  to  the  barmaid. 

Before  the  words  were  well  out  of  his  mouth  a  man 
who  had  followed  Cornelius  into  the  hotel  remarked, 
"  I'll  put  you  aboard  the  boat  with  pleasure,  Mr.  Jessel." 

Jessel's  first  impulse  was  to  fly.  To  be  suddenly  ac- 
costed by  name  when  so  far  as  he  knew  there  was  no 
one  in  Whitsea  except  the  servants  at  the  Hall  who  could 
be  aware  of  his  identity,  was  disconcerting  to  say  the 
least.  He  stifled  the  impulse  as  best  he  could,  and,  turn- 
ing on  his  heel,  faced  the  speaker.  He  saw  a  pleasant, 
open-faced  man  of  fifty  or  thereabouts  holding  out  his 
hand. 

"  Didn't  expect  to  see  me  here,  eh,  any  more  than  I 
expected  to  have  the  pleasure  of  meeting  you?  But  the 
world's  a  little  place,  and  this  sort  of  weather,  if  one  is 
likely  to  knock  up  against  old  acquaintances,  there's  no 
spot  more  likely  than  where  you  find  a  pretty  girl  mix- 
ing long  drinks  with  a  lot  of  ice  in  'em.  That's  right, 
isn't  it,  miss?" 

The  barmaid  giggled. 

"  A  slice  of  lemon,  a  bottle  of  Schweppe,  a  lump  of 
ice,  and  a  suspicion  of  white  satin,  if  you  please,"  he 
said  before  turning  again  to  Jessel  and  continuing  volu- 
bly. "  You  don't  recognise  me,  eh  ?  Well,  I'm  not  sur- 
prised, for  now  I  come  to  think  of  it  we  haven't  ex- 


196  THE   MASTER   CRIMINAL 

changed  more  than  a  dozen  words  in  our  lives.  My 
name's  Kenly." 

"  Oh ! "  Cornelius  remembered  and  immediately  felt 
easy  in  his  mind.  He  had  no  reason  for  dreading  his 
late  landlord.  He  took  the  proffered  hand. 

"  This  is  a  surprise,"  he  said.  "  Who  would  ever  have 
expected  to  meet  you  here  ?  " 

"  The  same  to  you,"  said  Kenly.  He  pointed  to  Jes- 
sel's  glass.  "  Drink  up  and  have  another  and  tell  how 
you  are  getting  on,"  he  said.  "  The  missis  will  be 
pleased  to  hear,  for  she's  always  telling  me  that  she's 
never  likely  to  have  such  a  nice  gent  in  the  house  to  do 
for,  and  she's  always  cracking  on  about  your  being 
obliged  to  leave,  and  how  certain  she  is  never  to  get  an- 
other like  you." 

Cornelius  smiled  and  emptied  his  glass.  "  Well,  as 
you  insist "  he  said. 

"  Another  of  the  same,"  said  Kenly  affably. 

"  And  what  brings  you  down  here  ?  "  asked  Cornelius. 

"  Taking  my  holiday,"  remarked  Kenly  expansively. 
"  This  is  just  the  sort  of  a  place  that  suits  me.  No  sand, 
no  niggers.  Plenty  of  fresh  air  and  sunshine,  a  boat  to 
potter  about  in,  and  some  of  the  real  sort  to  drink  when 
you're  thirsty,  that's  the  place  that  suits  me  down  to  the 
ground,  so  I'm  here.  I  suppose  you're  down  for  a 
change,  too  ?  " 

"  Not  exactly,"  replied  Cornelius.  "  I  have  to  com- 
bine business  and  pleasure,  too."  He  took  a  long  draught 
of  the  fresh  brew  which  the  barmaid  handed  to  him,  and, 
assuming  his  most  important  air,  he  changed  the  topic. 

"  I  suppose  Mrs.  Kenly  is  with  you  ?  " 

"  Not  much,"  answered   the  detective  with  a  broad 


CORNELIUS   JESSEL   DREAMS  197 

wink.  "  I  know  a  bit  too  much  to  bring  the  missis  on  a 
holiday,  and,  if  you  are  married,  you'd  understand." 

Cornelius  laughed  and  glanced  at  the  barmaid.  "  You 
can't  tell  me  anything,"  he  said. 

"  No,"  answered  Kenly.  "  Half  the  bachelors  to-day 
know  more  than  the  married  people,  and  that's  a  fact, 
ain't  it,  miss  ?  " 

The  barmaid  giggled  again.  "  You're  a  caution,"  she 
said.  The  conversation  progressed  swimmingly,  and  ten 
minutes  later  Cornelius  embarked  on  a  dingey,  having 
graciously  allowed  Kenly  to  put  him  aboard  Mr.  Flur- 
scheim's  yacht.  He  lounged  in  the  stern,  assuming  his 
most  important  air,  while  Kenly  pulled  away  at  the  oars. 
He  was  fully  alive  to  the  fact  that  he  would  create  a 
much  better  impression  going  aboard  thus  than  if  he  had 
been  compelled  to  borrow  a  boat  and  pull  himself  out  to 
the  yacht. 

Kenly  ran  him  up  alongside,  steadied  the  boat  by  the 
side  of  the  ladder,  and  then  let  his  dingey  drop  astern  to  a 
sufficient  distance  to  allow  him  to  observe  Cornelius 
introduce  himself  to  Flurscheim.  He  saw  that  the  two 
men  were  strangers,  and  he  gathered  that  the  connois- 
seur was  annoyed  at  Jessel's  invasion  of  his  privacy.  He 
saw  the  connoisseur  jump  up  suddenly  at  something 
which  was  said  and  begin  to  pace  the  deck  in  manifest 
agitation.  He  saw  Jessel  standing  unmoved,  and  then 
after  a  brief  conference  both  men  went  down  the  com- 
panion into  the  saloon. 

The  detective  immediately  realised  that  there  was  a 
chance  of  his  learning  what  errand  had  taken  Jessel  to 
the  yacht.  Half  a  dozen  strokes  took  him  alongside 
again,  and,  making  his  painter  fast  to  the  yacht's  anchor 


198  THE    MASTER   CRIMINAL 

chain,  he  stood  up  in  the  dingey  as  it  drifted  level  with 
an  open  port.  As  he  had  suspected  the  porthole  gave 
upon  the  saloon,  and  as  the  dingey  came  opposite  he 
could  hear  two  voices  in  excited  colloquy.  One  was  eas- 
ily recognised  as  Jessel's,  and  the  other  Kenly  had  just 
as  little  difficulty  in  recognising  as  Flurscheim's. 

"  Is  that  anything  like  the  face  on  one  of  your  minia- 
tures ?  "  said  Jessel. 

"  I  could  swear  to  it,"  said  Flurscheim. 

"  And  the  portrait — is  it  like  anyone  you  know  ?  " 
asked  the  valet. 

"  You've  seen  it,"  cried  the  Jew  eagerly.  "  You  must 
have  done,  for  the  miniature  is  so  like  Miss  Challys 
that  she  might  have  sat  for  the  portrait." 

"  I  have  seen  it  and  I  can  tell  you  where  it  is  at  the 
present  moment,"  answered  the  valet. 

"  Where  ?  Where  ?  "  cried  the  Jew  eagerly. 

"  You  don't  expect  me  to  tell  you  straight  away,  do 
you?  "  asked  Jessel  in  an  injured  tone. 

The  Jew  took  no  notice.  "And  the  other  boxes  and 
the  pictures — can  you  tell  me  where  my  Greuze  is  ?  " 

"  No,  I  can't,  at  least  not  at  present,"  said  the  valet 
coolly,  "  but  I  reckon  that  if  once  I  put  you  on  the  track 
of  one  of  the  things  that  has  been  stolen  it  won't  be  my 
fault  if  you  don't  find  out  where  the  rest  of  'em  are." 

"  Well,  well,"  said  Flurscheim,  impatiently,  "  tell  me 
where  the  miniature  is  ?  " 

There  was  silence  and  the  detective  listened  impa- 
tiently. 

"  Have  you  lost  your  tongue  ?  "  demanded  Flurscheim 
angrily. 
"  What  about  the  reward  you  offered  ? "  said  Jessel. 


CORNELIUS   JESSEL  DREAMS  199 

"  Five  thousand  pounds,  wasn't  it,  for  such  information 
as  shall  lead  to  the  conviction  of  the  thieves  or  the  re- 
covery of  the  stolen  property  ?  " 

"  You  shall  have  the  reward,  all  right,"  said  Flur- 
scheim  impatiently. 

"  I'm  not  misdoubting  your  word,"  said  Jessel,  "  but 
in  cases  like  this  it's  better  to  'ave  everything  in  black 
and  white.  'Ave  it  in  black  and  white,  that's  my  motto." 

Kenly  heard  the  connoisseur  give  a  grunt  of  disgust, 
and  he  smiled.  He  could  even  hear  the  scratching  of  a 
pen  on  paper.  Then  Flurscheim's  voice  remarked 
sharply : 

"  Mind,  I'll  give  nothing  to  any  confederate  in  the 
robbery.  If  you  have  had  anything  to  do  with  it  and 
will  make  a  clean  breast  of  the  matter,  I'll  do  my  best  for 

you,  but  I'm  not  going  to  be  blackmailed  by  any  d A 

thief." 

The  detective  smiled  again  at  the  injured  tone  of  Jes- 
sel's  reply.  "  I'm  a  respectable  man,  Mr.  Flurscheitn, 
though  I  am  a  poor  one,  an'  the  hinformation  'as  come 
to  me  quite  unexpected  like.  If  I  was  rich  I'd  be  'appy 
to  tell  you  all  I  know  for  the  cause  of  justice,  but  being 
only  poor,  I've  my  old  age  to  think  of." 

"  Well,  I  only  warned  you,  that's  all,"  grumbled  Flur- 
scheim. 

"  Which  there  was  no  need,"  answered  Cornelius  with 
dignity.  "  And  there's  another  matter,"  he  added,  and 
now  the  detective  could  detect  a  note  of  anxiety  in  his 
voice.  "  There's  them  as  is  connected  with  this  job  that 
won't  stick  at  nothing  to  get  even  with  them  as  gives 
'em  away,  if  they  has  so  much  as  a  hint  as  to  who  done 
it.  You'll  have  to  give  me  your  word  of  honour  as  a 


200  THE   MASTER   CRIMINAL 

gentleman  as  you'll  not  so  much  as  mention  my  name, 
or  my  life'll  not  be  worth  two  pennorth  of  gin." 

This  time  Flurscheim  was  silent  a  while  before  he  re- 
plied. 

''  If  I  don't  know  your  name  it  is  not  possible  for  me 
to  mention  it." 

"  You  can  easy  find  out,"  answered  Jessel,  "  when  I  tell 
you  what  I  have  to  tell  you." 

"  I  promise,"  replied  Flurscheim  shortly. 

Jessel  dropped  his  voice,  but,  low  as  it  was,  the  de- 
tective's keen  ears  overheard  every  word  of  the  informa- 
tion which  was  imparted.  He  was  thunderstruck  at  the 
intelligence  that  a  part  of  the  stolen  property  was  in  the 
possession  of  Guy  Hora.  He  could  not  conceive  the  mo- 
tive which  had  prompted  Jessel  to  disclose  the  fact,  even 
if  it  were  true.  He  wanted  time  to  arrange  his  ideas 
on  the  subject.  But  he  listened  eagerly  to  every  word 
that  passed.  He  missed  not  a  word  of  the  long  conver- 
sation that  ensued  when  Jessel  had  imparted  the  infor- 
mation he  possessed.  He  drank  in  all  Flurscheim's 
questions  and  all  the  valet's  answers,  and  was  so  anxious 
to  lose  nothing  of  what  passed  that  he  had  barely  time 
to  cast  the  boat  loose  and  drift  astern  when  he  heard 
them  rise  to  leave  the  saloon.  Still  he  presented  a  pic- 
ture of  perspiring  innocence  when  he  pulled  up  alongside 
to  take  his  late  lodger  back  to  the  quay. 

Cornelius  was  obviously  elated.  "  Sorry  to  'ave  kept 
you  so  long,  Kenly,"  he  remarked.  "  But  I  'ad  to  wait 
for  an  answer  to  something.  We  must  have  another 
drink." 

They  had  it  and  the  detective  learned  that  Cornelius 
was  expecting  to  return  to  town  the  following  day. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

INSPECTOR    KENLY    REPORTS 

ALTHOUGH  Cornelius  had  been  entirely  unaware  of 
the  fact,  his  late  landlord  had  arrived  at  Whitsea  by  the 
same  train  as  himself,  and  had  been  keeping  a  sharp  eye 
on  him,  and  if  it  were  possible,  a  still  sharper  eye  on 
Guy  Hora.  But  Kenly's  observation  had  been  unpro- 
ductive until  the  time  when  he  obeyed  the  impulse  to 
make  himself  known  to  Jessel.  He  had  been  impelled 
to  do  so  by  sheer  desperation  at  having  passed,  from  a 
professional  point  of  view,  one  of  the  most  unprofitable 
fortnights  of  his  life.  He  had  not  anticipated  any  re- 
markable revelations  when  he  had  followed  Cornelius 
into  the  hotel  bar,  and  when  he  finally  bade  his  old  tenant 
good-bye,  he  had  no  need  to  force  a  spice  of  heartiness 
into  the  greeting. 

Directly  after  Jessel  left  him  he  felt  the  necessity  for 
rearranging  all  his  theories,  but  at  the  same  time  he  was 
equally  alive  to  the  desirability  of  getting  to  work  upon 
the  new  clue  which  was  in  his  possession.  There  was 
now  nothing  to  keep  him  in  Whitsea.  He  had  learned 
of  Guy's  intention  to  return  to  London  the  following 
day,  and  he  determined  to  be  in  town  before  him.  There 
would  be  plenty  of  time  to  decide  upon  the  best  course 
to  pursue  during  the  journey. 

He  went  into  the  hotel,  packed  his  bag,  and  paid  his 

201 


202  THE   MASTER   CRIMINAL 

bill  in  a  desperate  hurry,  for  the  hotel  omnibus  was  at 
the  door. 

He  caught  his  train  and  was  thankful  to  find  so  few 
people  travelling  that  he  could  get  a  compartment  to 
himself.  He  could  marshal  his  ideas  better  in  solitude. 
Still,  arrange  them  and  rearrange  them  as  he  might,  he 
could  get  no  nearer  a  reasonable  explanation  of  the  re- 
lationship of  the  various  parties  who  had  become  objects 
of  his  suspicion.  The  only  theory  which  seemed  at  all 
tenable  was  that  the  Horas,  father  and  son,  Cornelius 
Jessel  and  Captain  Marven  were  all  members  of  a  gang 
of  criminals  who  operated  in  perfect  safety  by  reason 
of  the  social  position  of  the  principals.  But  in  such  case 
Kenly  could  not  understand  the  motive  of  the  elaborate 
plot  by  means  of  which  Cornelius  had  secured  for  him- 
self his  place  in  Guy's  service.  Nor  could  he  compre- 
hend why  Captain  Marven's  name  should  have  been 
used  in  regard  to  the  stock  exchange  operations  which 
had  followed  upon  the  acquisition  of  the  knowledge  con- 
tained in  the  despatches.  To  Kenly,  that  seemed  such  a 
gratuitous  piece  of  folly,  as  to  be  entirely  unworthy  of 
the  audacious  person  who  had  planned  and  carried  out 
the  Flurscheim  coup. 

Like  a  wise  man,  he  ceased  after  a  while  to  trouble 
himself  with  inventing  explanations  to  fit  theories.  He 
knew  very  well  that  once  all  the  facts  were  in  his  hands 
an  explanation  would  be  easy  to  find,  and  he  was  anxious 
to  get  some  additional  facts.  Was  not  that  the  motive 
which  had  made  him  decide  to  leave  Whitsea  in  such  a 
hurry?  He  knew  very  well  that  Guy  was  not  carrying 
the  stolen  picture  about  with  him,  and  he  had  learned 
quite  enough  about  Whitsea  Hall  to  be  quite  assured  in 


INSPECTOR   KENLY   REPORTS          203 

his  own  mind  that  the  picture  was  not  likely  to  be  re- 
posing there.  He  had,  however,  become  sufficiently  ac- 
quainted with  Lynton  Hora's  mode  of  life  from  his  friend 
the  hall  porter  of  Westminster  Mansions,  to  warrant  the 
assumption  that  the  Greuze  was  hidden  somewhere  in 
Lynton  Hora's  flat.  If  he  could  only  get  an  opportunity 
to  verify  his  suspicion  before  any  of  the  persons  he  sus- 
pected were  alarmed,  he  saw  an  opportunity  of  bringing 
off  a  coup  which  would  provide  a  startling  denouement 
to  the  sensational  Flurscheim  burglary.  The  thought 
ran  away  with  him  to  such  an  extent  that  he  allowed 
himself  to  taste  the  sweets  of  success.  He  imagined 
himself  reading  the  references  in  the  newspapers  to 
"the  smart  work  of  that  able  officer,  Detective  Inspec- 
tor Kenly."  He  imagined  himself  listening  to  the  com- 
mendations of  the  Judge  when  the  prisoners  at  the  bar 
had  been  sentenced  to  various  terms  of  penal  servitude, 

and He  awoke  to  the  bustle  of  Liverpool   Street 

railway  station,  limp  with  perspiration,  still  undecided  as 
to  the  best  manner  of  setting  about  getting  the  evidence 
he  needed,  and  perforce  compelled  to  leave  circumstances 
to  guide  his  course  of  action. 

He  permitted  himself  the  luxury  of  a  cab  to  Scotland 
Yard,  where  he  proposed  to  deposit  his  bag  and  report 
himself.  He  had  another  reason  for  calling  at  head- 
quarters. He  foresaw  that  very  shortly  the  moment 
might  arrive  when  he  would  not  be  able  to  deal  with 
the  situation  single-handed.  If  all  the  parties  whom  he 
expected  to  be  implicated  in  the  two  affairs  were  to  be 
kept  under  surveillance,  he  would  need  assistance,  and 
he  was  not  quite  certain  whether  that  moment  had  not 
already  arrived  when  some  such  steps  were  necessary. 


204  THE   MASTER   CRIMINAL 

Then  Mr.  Hildebrand  Flurscheim  might  at  any  moment 
communicate  with  the  Yard,  and  Inspector  Kenly  did  not 
want  anyone  else  to  be  put  on  the  job  without  his  knowl- 
edge. He  knew  that  as  he  had  previously  had  the  in- 
vestigation in  hand,  if  he  reported  himself  back  in  town 
he  would  be  communicated  with  in  the  event  of  any  fresh 
information  coming  to  hand,  even  though  he  was  detailed 
for  special  service  on  the  Foreign  Office  affair,  and 
thereby  relieved  of  the  obligation  to  render  daily  reports 
of  his  work  to  his  own  department. 

He  was  glad  that  he  had  determined  to  report  himself, 
for  he  found  awaiting  him  a  pressing  message  from  the 
Permanent  Secretary,  asking  him  to  call  at  the  Foreign 
Office,  as  the  Great  Man  was  anxious  to  know  the  result 
of  his  investigations. 

Inspector  Kenly  looked  at  his  watch.  The  afternoon 
was  young.  The  Permanent  Secretary  could  be  kept 
waiting  for  an  hour  or  two  longer.  The  detective,  leav- 
ing his  bag  behind  him,  strolled  out  into  the  sun-scorched 
streets.  He  had  even  forgotten  that  he  had  eaten  no 
lunch,  so  eager  was  he  on  his  quest.  He  walked  briskly 
towards  Westminster  Mansions,  and  could  have  shouted 
with  delight  when  he  observed  his  old  comrade  standing 
at  the  open  door.  "  Hello,  looking  for  a  breeze,"  he  re- 
marked. 

The  porter  chuckled. 

"  If  you've  been  locking  any  up  lately,  the  sooner  you 
let  'em  loose  again  the  better  I  shall  be  pleased,"  he  re- 
marked. 

"  It  looks  cooler  inside  than  out  here,"  said  Kenly, 
with  meaning. 

The  porter  winked  and  led  the  way  inside.    Two  lift 


INSPECTOR  KENLY  REPORTS    205 

attendants  were  seated  languidly  interesting  themselves 
in  the  cricket  intelligence  of  the  latest  evening  papers. 

Kenly  glanced  at  them  while  he  asked  in  a  low  tone: 
"  Is  there  any  chance  of  a  private  chat  ?  " 

His  old  comrade  nodded,  and  after  talking  for  a  few 
moments  on  the  burning  topic  of  the  weather,  managed 
to  send  both  the  youths  on  an  errand.  Kenly  grunted  his 
relief.  Directly  he  was  alone  with  the  porter  he  went 
straight  to  the  point. 

"  I  want  to  go  over  Mr.  Lynton  Hora's  flat,"  he  an- 
nounced abruptly. 

The  porter  gazed  at  him  in  silent  astonishment. 

"  Yes,  I  mean  exactly  what  I  say,"  he  continued,  "  and 
the  sooner  I  can  do  so  the  better  I  shall  be  pleased.  I 
suppose  some  of  your  people  have  a  key  ?  " 

The  hall  porter  regained  his  power  of  speech.  "  It 
can't  possibly  be  managed,  Kenly,"  he  spluttered. 
"  There's  nothing  I  wouldn't  do  for  you  in  reason, 
but " 

Kenly  cut  him  short.  "  It's  got  to  be  done,"  he  re- 
marked decisively.  "  I've  come  to  you,  because  I  know 
I  can  trust  you  to  say  nothing,  and  the  fewer  people  who 
know  what  I  am  doing  the  better  I  shall  be  pleased." 

"  It  can't  be  done,"  remarked  the  hall  porter.  "  It 
would  be  as  much  as  my  place  is  worth." 

"  Pooh !  "  said  the  detective.  "  It  is  easy  enough  to 
make  some  excuse.  You  can  say  I'm  the  electric  light 
man  or  that  I  have  orders  to  clean  out  the  cisterns." 

"  There  ain't  no  cisterns  that  want  cleaning,"  objected 
the  hall  porter.  "  Now  if  you  had  come  and  asked  me 
two  days  ago  there  wouldn't  have  been  any  difficulty,  but 
to-day " 


206  THE   MASTER  CRIMINAL 

"  Why  is  it  impossible  to-day  ? "  demanded  the  de- 
tective. 

"  Well,  Mr.  Hora  and  Miss  Myra  have  been  away  at 
Scarborough  for  the  past  fortnight,  and  I  could  have  let 
you  in  to  their  place,  but  I'm  expecting  them  to  return 
at  any  minute  now." 

"  Then  we  mustn't  lose  any  time  talking  about  it," 
said  Kenly  briskly.  "  I  suppose  you  have  some  means 
of  communicating  with  the  flat  from  here." 

"  There's  the  telephone,"  said  the  porter. 

"  Take  me  straight  up,"  said  Kenly,  "  and  if  Mr.  Hora 
should  arrive  before  I  come  down  again  just  give  two 
rings  at  the  telephone  bell.  I  shall  have  plenty  of  time 
to  let  myself  out  before  Mr.  Hora  returns."  He  caught 
hold  of  the  porter's  arm  and  hurried  him  away  in  the  di- 
rection of  the  lift.  Protesting  all  the  while  that  it  would 
be  impossible  and  entreating  Kenly  to  postpone  his  visit 
to  a  more  convenient  occasion,  he  yet  allowed  himself  to 
be  carried  away  by  the  detective's  impetuosity.  He  pro- 
tested while  the  lift  went  steadily  upward,  he  protested 
even  while  he  inserted  a  key  in  the  lock,  and  Kenly  left 
him  outside  the  door  still  protesting. 

Fortune  seemed  to  be  favouring  the  detective.  From 
previous  conversations  he  had  gained  a  fairly  accurate 
knowledge  of  the  geography  of  the  interior  of  Hora's 
residence,  and  he  wasted  no  time  in  searching  the  resi- 
dential portion  of  the  flat.  He  went  directly  to  the  door 
where  Hora  kept  his  pictures  and  his  books.  But  here  he 
experienced  a  rebuff.  The  door  was  locked,  and  the  lock 
was  a  patent  one.  Kenly  had  with  him  a  bunch  of  skele- 
ton keys,  but  a  very  slight  trial  proved  that  the  lock  was 
unpickable. 


INSPECTOR   KENLY  REPORTS          207 

He  began  to  cast  around  for  some  other  means 
of  gaining  access,  but  he  saw  none  within  the  flat. 
He  passed  through  all  the  rooms,  glancing  round  each. 
He  was  impressed  by  the  luxury  of  the  furnishing,  but 
there  was  nothing  which  could  cause  anyone  to  suspect 
the  occupant  of  anything  but  highly  refined  tastes.  Kenly 
had  just  completed  his  hasty  survey  when  the  telephone 
bell  rang  twice. 

"  D n !  "  said  the  Inspector.  He  opened  the  outer 

door  and  walked  out  into  the  passage  outside.  He  knew 
that  he  must  not  be  seen,  and  he  hastily  descended  the 
flight  of  stairs  to  the  floor  below,  and  as  he  did  so  the 
lift  passed  him  ascending  upwards.  He  caught  a  glimpse 
of  Hora's  face. 

Kenly  waited  until  the  lift  descended.  The  hall  porter 
himself  was  in  charge.  He  stopped  the  lift.  Kenly  en- 
tered in  silence. 

"  Find  what  you  wanted  ?  "  asked  the  porter  curiously. 

"  No  time,"  grunted  the  detective.  "  I  must  have  a 
look  round  another  time.  If  I  had  only  known  yester- 
day what  I  learned  to-day "  He  groaned  at  the 

thought  of  what  might  be  hidden  beyond  that  locked 
door.  Still  he  was  not  disheartened.  He  had  noted  the 
number  of  the  lock  and  the  name  of  the  maker,  and  he 
knew  that  the  next  time  he  called  the  locked  door  would 
prove  no  barrier  to  his  investigations.  Still,  days  might 
pass  before  the  opportunity  he  desired  would  recur,  and 
it  was  annoying  to  feel  that  opportunity  had  been  lost  by 
so  narrow  a  margin.  He  bade  his  friend  good-bye  and 
went  away  at  once  to  the  Foreign  Office. 

The  sky  had  become  overcast  and  the  atmosphere  was 
hotter  than  ever.  Visions  of  a  long  drink,  with  cool 


208  THE   MASTER   CRIMINAL 

translucent  lumps  of  ice  tinkling  against  the  steamy 
glass,  sorely  tempted  the  detective,  but  he  banished  them,, 
and,  perspiring  himself,  he  was  at  last  ushered  by  a  per- 
spiring attendant  into  the  presence  of  a  perspiring  Per- 
manent Secretary  who  had  wheeled  his  chair  on  to  a 
line  between  the  open  door  and  the  open  window,  and 
sat  there  in  his  shirt  sleeves  in  the  pathetic  belief  that 
a  draught  of  cool  air  might  be  tempted  to  pass  that 
way. 

"  What  is  it?  What  is  it?  "  he  snapped  at  the  attend- 
ant who  entered  to  announce  Inspector  Kenly.  Then 
looking  up  he  recognised  his  visitor  standing  at  the  open 
door. 

"  Oh,  it's  you,  Kenly.  Come  in."  The  attendant  with- 
drew. "  And,  yes,  you  had  better  shut  the  door."  He 
sighed  as  if  he  had  thereby  ordered  the  door  to  be  shut 
on  his  own  salvation. 

"  Sit  down,  Inspector,  and  tell  me  what  you  have  found 
out,"  he  added. 

He  looked  round  for  his  cigar  case,  and  not  finding  it 
immediately  made  confusion  of  the  pile  of  papers  which 
covered  his  table. 

"  I  think,  Sir  Everard,  you  will  find  your  cigar  case 
in  your  coat  pocket,"  observed  the  detective  blandly. 

The  Permanent  Secretary  smiled  as  he  thrust  his  hand 
into  the  breast  pocket  of  his  discarded  coat. 

"  The  heat  always  makes  me  irritable,"  he  apologised. 
"  No  man  ought  to  work  when  the  thermometer  reaches 
the  eighties."  He  selected  a  cigar.  "  By  the  way,"  he 
remarked,  "by  what  process  of  reasoning  did  you 
arrive  at  the  deduction  that  my  cigar  case  was  in  my 
pocket?" 


INSPECTOR  KENLY  REPORTS    209 

"  I  saw  the  corner  of  it  sticking  out,"  remarked  the 
detective  equably. 

"  H-m,"  said  the  Permanent  Secretary,  laughing,  "  the 
proper  use  of  the  eyes  may  on  occasion  be  more  valuable 
than  any  amount  of  deduction." 

He  lit  his  cigar  and  stretched  himself  lazily  in  his 
chair. 

"  Now  fire  away,  Kenly.  I  can  see  that  you  have  some- 
thing to  tell  me  about  those  stolen  despatches." 

Without  unnecessary  beating  about  the  bush  Kenly 
began  the  result  of  his  investigations.  The  narration 
did  not  take  long,  for,  though  he  had  already  spent  a 
month  on  the  investigation,  the  facts  he  had  discovered 
could  be  described  in  a  very  few  words.  But  few  as 
those  facts  were  they  were  sufficiently  startling  to  make 
the  Permanent  Secretary  forget  the  heat 

"  By  Jove !  "  he  remarked,  when  Kenly  had  finished. 
"And  I  would  have  pledged  my  life  on  Captain  Mar- 
ven's  absolute  honour.  Yet,  from  what  you  have  told 
me,  he  appears  to  be  hand-in-glove  with  a  gang  of 
thieves,  one  of  them  living  in  his  own  house  and  likely 
at  any  moment  to  become  engaged  to  his  daughter." 

"  Certainly  appearances  are  very  much  against  him," 
remarked  Kenly  cautiously,  "  but  I  never  trust  to  ap- 
pearances myself.  I  have  seen  too  many  cases,  where 
perfectly  innocent  persons  have  been  on  the  most  inti- 
mate terms  with  scoundrels,  to  allow  that  one  fact  to 
weigh  with  me.  If  it  was  only  a  question  of  the  bur- 
glary, I  should  expect  Captain  Marven  to  be  the  next  vic- 
tim of  the  gang,  and  it  is  only  the  fact  that  it  seems 
impossible  for  the  contents  of  the  despatches  to  have  be- 
come known  to  the  Horas  without  Marven's  assistance 


2io  THE   MASTER   CRIMINAL 

which  leads  me  to  suspect  him  with  the  rest  of  the 
crowd." 

The  Permanent  Secretary  puffed  meditatively  at  his 
cigar. 

"  Things  look  very  black  against  Marven,"  he  said. 
"  Very  black  indeed,"  he  repeated,  after  a  lengthy  pause ; 
then  he  asked,  "  Who  are  these  Horas  ? "  Kenly  shook 
his  head. 

"  I  should  like  to  know  their  history  myself,"  he  an- 
swered. "  All  I  have  heard  hitherto  is  that  the  elder  man 
has  occupied  a  first-class  flat  in  Westminster  for  the  past 
ten  years  at  a  rent  of  three  hundred  and  fifty  pounds  a 
year,  and  passes  as  a  very  retired  gentleman  indeed.  He 
spends  only  about  six  months  of  the  year  in  London,  and 
they  say  he  has  estates  in  Italy.  That  may  or  may  not 
be  the  case,  but,  anyhow,  he  calls  himself  the  Commanda- 
tore,  which  I'm  told  is  an  Italian  title  given  him  by  the 
King  of  Italy  for  something  or  other  he's  done  over 
there.  The  young  one  was  at  Oxbridge  and  made  quite 
a  name  amongst  his  set,  and  lived  at  home  till  a  few 
weeks  ago,  when  he  took  some  chambers  in  the  Albany. 
Then  there's  a  girl  named  Myra,  who  passes  as  the  old 
man's  daughter,  though  there's  reason  to  think  that  she's 
only  an  adopted  child." 

"  What  are  you  proposing  to  do  ? "  asked  the  Perma- 
nent Secretary,  after  another  pase. 

Inspector  Kenly  coughed.  "  That  depends "  he 

remarked,  and  paused.  "  That  depends  on  circumstances. 
You  see,  Sir  Everard,  my  hand  may  be  forced  before  I 
shall  have  obtained  all  the  evidence  I  want.  That  com- 
munication which  has  been  made  to  Mr.  Flurscheim  may 
lead  at  any  moment  to  the  younger  Hora's  arrest,  and 


INSPECTOR  KENLY  REPORTS    211 

then  good-bye  to  the  hope  of  obtaining  any  more  evi- 
dence. What  I  was  going  to  suggest  was  that  you 
should  allow  me  to  continue  to  investigate  your  affair. 
It  will  leave  me  more  free  to  look  after  things  than  if  I 
have  to  turn  in  a  report  to  headquarters.  I'm  so  afraid," 
he  added  in  a  burst  of  confidence,  "  that  they  might  put 
some  man  on  to  the  job  that  would  bungle  it.  I've  got 
an  idea  as  to  where  the  Greuze  is  hidden,  but  I  know 
very  well  that  at  the  first  hint  of  anything  going  wrong 
it  would  disappear,  or  be  destroyed." 

"  Then  you  think  that  the  same  people  who  brought 
off  the  Flurscheim  burglary  are  responsible  for  the  de- 
spatch leakage  ?  "  asked  the  Permanent  Secretary. 

"  Certain  of  it,"  declared  Inspector  Kenly. 

"  But  if  you  continue  to  work  on  my  business,  isn't 
what  you  fear  likely  to  come  to  pass?  Will  not  another 
man  be  put  on  to  the  picture  robbery?  Flurscheim  will 
hardly  keep  silence." 

"  I'll  see  after  that,"  answered  Kenly.  "  From  what  I 
know  of  Mr.  Flurscheim  he  won't  let  the  grass  grow 
under  his  feet.  He  is  probably  on  the  way  to  town 
now." 

"  Then  what  becomes  of  your  plans  ?  "  asked  the  Per- 
manent Secretary.  He  could  see  that  the  detective  had 
not  revealed  all  that  was  in  his  mind. 

"  Mr.  Flurscheim  wants  to  get  his  Greuze  back  un- 
damaged," said  the  detective  slowly,  "  and  he  also  wants 
to  punish  the  man  who  stole  it.  I  shall  see  him  directly 
he  arrives  in  town,  and  I  think  I  can  make  it  clear  to 
him  that  he  had  better  say  nothing  until  I  consider  the 
time  ripe  for  action." 

"There's  only  one  thing  more,"  remarked  the  Per- 


212  THE   MASTER   CRIMINAL 

manent  Secretary.  "  Suppose  I  think  it  necessary  to  ask 
Captain  Marven  for  an  explanation  ?  " 

The  detective  jumped  to  his  feet  with  a  look  of  horror 
on  his  face.  "  Good  heavens !  Sir  Everard,"  he  ex- 
claimed, "  you  would  spoil  everything.  You  won't  do 
it?" 

The  Permanent  Secretary  laughed. 

"  You  may  make  your  mind  easy,  Kenly,"  he  observed. 
"  I'm  too  much  of  a  sportsman  for  that,  I  hope." 


CHAPTER   XX 

GUY'S   LAST  THEFT 

WHILE  Inspector  Kenly  was  hastening  to  London 
events  at  Whitsea  were  shaping  themselves  to  the  bewil- 
derment of  a  number  of  the  inhabitants  of  that  pleasant 
little  yachting  resort.  There  was  electricity  in  the  air 
afflicting  everyone  with  a  vague  disquietude.  Meriel, 
thinking  over  Guy's  wild  outburst  after  his  passionate 
declaration  of  love,  felt  a  strange  dread  of  what  the  day 
should  bring  forth.  Guy,  fearing  the  result  of  the  con- 
fession he  had  promised  to  make,  could  see  no  sun  be- 
hind the  gathering  clouds.  Mrs.  Marven,  noticing  a 
newborn  constraint  between  the  two  young  people,  began 
to  think  that  she  had  misread  the  signs  which  had  seemed 
confidently  to  predict  a  love-match.  Captain  Marven, 
less  dubious  on  this  point,  felt  only  vaguely  uneasy.  He 
therefore  decided  that  the  electricity  was  not  produced 
by  mental  disturbance,  but  was  purely  atmospheric. 

"  There  is  thunder  in  the  air,"  he  declared,  and  coun- 
selled the  members  of  his  household  not  to  get  far  away 
from  home. 

But  on  the  physical  horizon  there  was  no  cloud.  Guy, 
wishing  to  be  alone  once  more  with  Meriel,  proposed 
that  they  should  bring  the  Witch  home,  and  Meriel,  fear- 
less of  the  sun  and  longing  for  an  end  to  her  suspense, 
acceded  to  the  suggestion. 

After  an   early   lunch   they   started.     The   heat  was 

213 


214 

greater  than  ever,  but  Guy  was  heedless  of  it.  He  pulled 
at  the  oars  as  if  physical  exertion  was  a  panacea  for  a 
troubled  mind.  Meriel,  watching  him  from  the  stern 
as  the  dingey  cut  the  water,  rejoiced  in  his  strength.  At 
least  her  lover  was  a  man. 

She  wondered  greatly  what  was  on  his  mind.  She 
was  no  petticoated  ignoramus  of  the  world.  She  knew 
that  men  were  sometimes  caught  in  feminine  entangle- 
ments, and  were  sometimes  even  ashamed  of  their  folly. 
It  might  be  that  Guy  had  been  so  caught,  and  felt  in 
honour  bound  to  acquaint  her  with  his  difficulty.  She 
did  not  want  to  hear.  It  was  quite  sufficient  that  he 
should  desire  that  she  should  know  the. worst  of  him. 
When  he  spoke  she  would  stop  him.  She  was  quite  sure, 
even  as  she  had  said  on  the  previous  evening,  that  nothing 
that  had  happened  in  the  past  could  make  any  difference. 

The  Witch  rode  to  her  anchor,  with  her  stern  pointing 
to  the  sea,  for  the  tide  was  still  ebbing  when  they  reached 
her  side. 

Meriel  felt  Guy's  hand  tremble  as  it  clasped  hers  to 
assist  her  aboard.  She  knew  that  the  time  had  come 
when  Guy  would  speak.  She  could  have  cried  aloud  to 
him  to  remain  forever  silent,  for  a  fear  came  upon  her 
that  it  was  no  youthful  indiscretion  which  her  companion 
proposed  to  reveal,  but  something  vital  to  their  joint 
happiness,  something  searing  to  their  love.  She  put  the 
thought  aside.  Her  love  was  her  life:  more,  for  it  would 
endure  after  life  itself  had  departed. 

"  Are  you  listening,  Meriel  ?  "  asked  Guy  a  little  later. 

He  had  set  the  mainsail,  and  in  the  shadow  it  cast  on 
deck  he  had  arranged  cushions  for  her.  She  looked  up 
at  him  in  mute  answer. 


GUY'S    LAST   THEFT  215 

"  Meriel,  don't  look  at  me,  your  eyes  will  make  a  cow- 
ard of  me,"  he  said.  "  Look  out  on  the  horizon.  Do 
you  see  the  white  sail  yonder?  That  boat  is  coming  on 
the  first  of  the  tide.  By  the  time  she  reaches  us  you 
will  have  no  wish  to  look  upon  me  again." 

She  denied  the  statement  vehemently. 

"  I  know  what  I  have  to  tell  you,"  he  answered  stead- 
ily. "  But  first  I  should  like  you  to  know  something  of 
the  beliefs  in  which  I  was  brought  up." 

He  told  her  first  of  Lynton  Hora's  enmity  with  the 
world,  told  her  of  his  philosophy,  of  his  conception  of 
mankind  as  a  fortuitous  aggregation  of  warring  atoms, 
each  hypocritically  desirous  of  concealing  his  real  intent 
from  his  neighbours. 

"  This  I  believed  till  I  met  you,  Meriel,"  he  said. 

"  But  if  that  is  all "  Her  voice  died  away.  Look- 
ing at  him,  she  saw  his  face  had  hardened. 

"  It  is  not  all."  He  told  her  of  his  early  training,  of 
the  practical  exposition  of  Hora's  philosophy. 

Meriel  no  longer  looked  at  her  companion's  face.  She 
began  to  feel  horror  growing  upon  her.  She  gazed  now 
at  the  white  sail.  It  was  perceptibly  nearer. 

He  carried  the  story  of  his  life  on  to  the  point  where 
he  left  the  University,  told  her  how,  merely  in  obedience 
to  his  father's  advice,  he  had  not,  during  those  days, 
practised  the  principles  in  which  he  had  believed.  Hope 
began  to  grow  again  in  her  heart.  She  murmured,  "  Go 
on,"  eagerly. 

He  told  her  of  his  earnest  desire  to  win  the  approba- 
tion of  his  father,  depicted  for  her  the  glamour  which 
the  adventurous  aspect  of  his  profession  presented.  Ab- 
ruptly he  told  her  of  his  first  enterprise. 


216  THE   MASTER   CRIMINAL 

Meriel's  heart  almost  ceased  to  beat.  The  white  sails 
of  the  oncoming  boat  fascinated  her.  They  were  very 
near  now. 

"  That  is  not  all,  yet,"  he  said.  "  There  is  one  other 
thing  you  must  know."  Paltering  not  at  all,  excusing 
himself  in  no  way,  he  told  her  the  history  of  the  stolen 
despatches. 

He  had  not  looked  at  her  at  all  during  the  narration, 
but  now  he  ventured  one  glance.  Eer  face  was  unnat- 
urally pale. 

"  You  know  now  why  I  could  not  ask  you  to  marry 
me,"  he  said.  "  I  cannot  ask  you  to  marry  a  thief.  Yet, 
I  want  you  to  believe  that,  thief  though  I  am,  I  could  not 
steal  your  love.  You  must  believe  that  of  me.  It  is 
true."  She  heard  him,  but  she  made  no  answer.  The 
boat  she  had  been  watching  had  crept  up  until  it  was 
level.  It  passed.  She  shivered  in  spite  of  the  heat. 

Guy  had  moved  quietly  away.  She  saw  that  the  Witch 
had  swung  on  the  tide.  She  watched  him  weigh  the 
anchor  and  get  the  boat  under  way  with  a  curious  fear 
in  her  heart;  a  fear  for  herself.  In  looks,  in  bearing,  in 
his  manner,  he  was  every  inch  a  man,  a  man  that  she 
loved.  But  he  was  a  thief,  the  thief  who  had  treacher- 
ously robbed  the  man  who  had  been  a  father  to  her,  a 
thief  for  whom  the  police  were  searching,  a  thief  who 
might  any  day  stand  in  the  dock  as  a  felon. 

"Guy  is  a  thief!  a  thief!  a  thief!"  She  had  to  re- 
peat the  words  to  herself  again  and  again  lest  she  should 
forget.  Yes,  he  had  been  quite  right,  she  could  never 
marry  a  thief.  She  supposed  that  she  ought  to  be  thank- 
ful to  him  for  having  told  her  before  she  had  married 
him.  She  would  have  married  him  if  he  had  not  told 


GUY'S   LAST   THEFT  217 

her.  But  he  was  wrong  in  saying  that  he  could  not  steal 
her  love.  He  had  stolen  it.  If  she  had  known  from  the 
first  she  would  never  have  given  her  heart  to  him.  But 
he  had  come  and  taken  it  away,  and  now  that  he  had 
given  it  back  to  her 

Guy  had  come  to  the  tiller.  She  roused  herself  and 
looked  into  his  face. 

"  It  is  not  true  that  you  did  not  steal  my  love,""  she 
said.  "  You  took  my  heart  from  me,  and  you  have 
broken  it,  and  now  you  bring  me  back  the  pieces  and 
say  you  did  not  steal  it."  She  spoke  dispassionately,  as 
one  who  would  argue  the  point. 

Guy  wondered  at  the  tone  until  he  saw  the  dazed  look 
in  the  girl's  eyes. 

"  Meriel,"  he  cried,  "  for  God's  sake  don't  look  at  me 
like  that.  Say  something,  anything,  if  only  it  were  to 
curse  me.  I  had  to  tell  you,  even  though  I  knew  that  the 
telling  would  end  my  life's  happiness." 

"  I  had  no  reason  to  think  that  you  were  anything  but 
an  honourable  man.  I  had  never  mixed  with  any  but 
honourable  men,  and  so  I  suppose  I  was  deceived,"  she 
answered  wearily.  "  I  don't  suppose  I  ought  to  blame 
you." 

She  turned  away,  and  going  forward  leaned  upon  the 
staffrack  where  she  was  hidden  from  his  sight  by  the 
intervening  sail.  Tears  had  come  to  her  relief  at  last. 

The  boat  drifted  on  with  the  tide.  The  sky  was  be- 
coming overcast  and  away  in  the  north  a  heavy  bunch 
of  clouds  was  gathering.  A  sudden  breeze  ruffled  the 
surface  of  the  water,  and  died  away  as  swiftly  as  it 
arose.  A  puff  filled  the  sails.  It  came  from  the  south, 
another  puff  followed  it  from  another  quarter,  heading 


218  THE   MASTER   CRIMINAL 

the  Witch  so  that  the  sails  flapped  wildly.  Guy  had 
barely  brought  her  up  to  the  wind  before  it  veered  again 
to  the  south.  The  Witch  leaned  over  under  the  pressure, 
and,  gathering  way,  set  the  foam  swirling  under  her 
bows.  As  the  squall  strengthened  the  Witch  began  to 
talk,  and  Guy  cast  an  anxious  look  aloft.  The  squall 
died  away  and  once  more  the  boat  drifted.  But  the  ten 
minutes'  breeze  had  brought  them  near  home.  They  were 
amongst  the  other  boats  moored  in  the  river  opposite  the 
quay. 

Meriel  had  not  moved  from  her  place  forward.  Her 
tears  had  ceased  to  flow.  In  a  few  more  minutes  she 
would  have  said  good-bye  to  Guy  and  to  love.  She 
looked  up.  The  Witch  was  drifting  past  Mr.  Hildebrand 
Flurscheim's  yacht,  and  the  connoisseur  was  on  the  deck. 
Meriel  recognised  him  at  the  same  moment  that  she  was 
recognised.  "  Good  afternoon,  Miss  Challys.  Look  out 
for  the  storm,  Mr.  Hora,"  cried  Flurscheim. 

Was  there  a  spice  of  mockery  in  his  voice,  or  was  it 
her  fancy?  Meriel  could  not  be  certain.  There  had 
been  a  smile  on  Flurscheim's  face.  Supposing  he  sus- 
pected that  Guy  was  the  man  who  had  robbed  him  of  his 
treasure,  Guy  would  be  arrested.  She  knew  in  that 
moment  that  all  that  he  had  told  her  had  made  no  differ- 
ence to  her  affection.  She  knew  that  she  loved  him, 
thief  as  he  was,  that  she  would  do  anything,  make  any 
sacrifice,  to  rescue  him  from  the  result  of  his  misdeeds. 
She  left  her  post  and  went  aft  to  Guy's  side.  A  distant 
flash  of  lightning  illuminated  Flurscheim's  face.  He  was 
still  smiling  as  he  gazed  in  their  direction.  She  won- 
dered whether  Guy  had  observed  the  Jew's  expression. 
If  so,  he  had  paid  no  heed  to  it.  His  whole  attention  was 


GUY'S   LAST   THEFT  219 

given  to  the  boat,  though  now  and  again  he  cast  an 
anxious  glance  at  the  sky. 

"  Here  comes  the  breeze  again,"  he  muttered.  He 
gave  a  sigh  of  relief  as  the  sails  filled.  "  Five  minutes 
of  it,  and  we  shall  escape  the  storm,"  he  said.  The 
Witch  heeled  over  till  her  rail  was  awash  and  the  foam 
creamed  away  in  their  wake. 

Meriel  looked  back  at  Flurscheim.  He  waved  his 
hand,  and  even  as  he  waved  it  he  overbalanced  and  fell 
forward  into  the  water.  She  gave  utterance  to  a  sharp 
cry  of  alarm. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  shouted  Guy,  for  the  rushing  of  the 
wind  made  ordinary  speech  impossible  to  be  heard. 

"  Flurscheim  is  overboard,"  she  gasped. 

Without  a  moment's  hesitation  Guy  put  the  tiller  down, 
and,  as  the  Witch  came  up  into  the  wind,  he  glanced  in 
the  direction  to  which  Meriel  pointed.  A  dark  object 
was  being  borne  swiftly  along  on  the  tide.  Guy  kept  the 
tiller  down  until  the  boat  was  before  the  wind,  and 
giving  the  mainsail  more  sheet,  the  Witch  scudded  back 
in  the  direction  she  had  come.  But  the  dark  object  had 
disappeared. 

"  Can  you  manage  the  tiller  ?  "  shouted  Guy. 

Meriel  nodded. 

"  Bring  her  up  into  the  wind  the  moment  I  tell  you," 
he  said.  He  cast  loose  the  painter  of  the  dingey  towing 
aft,  and  stood  with  it  in  his  hand,  watching  patiently. 
The  dark  object  reappeared  not  a  dozen  yards  away. 
He  had  already  kicked  off  his  boots.  He  dropped  the 
painter. 

"Now,"  he  shouted  to  Meriel,  and  took  a  header 
straight  into  the  tossing  water. 


220  THE   MASTER   CRIMINAL 

Guy  had  not  trusted  to  Meriel  in  vain.  When  he  rose 
to  the  surface  and  shook  the  water  out  of  his  eyes  he  saw 
that  the  yacht  was  lying-to  not  half  a  cable's  length  away. 
He  had  barely  time  to  appreciate  the  fact  when  the  ob- 
ject he  had  dived  for  floated  towards  him.  He  caught 
a  glimpse  of  a  despairing  face,  and  the  next  moment  he 
had  grasped  Flurscheim  by  the  collar  and  was  striking 
out  strongly  in  the  direction  of  the  dingey,  drifting,  like 
themselves,  with  the  tide,  only  a  few  yards  away.  Flur- 
scheim had  struggled  when  Guy  had  first  gripped  him, 
but  his  struggles  had  soon  ceased.  Guy  got  him  to  the 
side  of  the  boat,  but  could  not  hoist  him  aboard.  He 
threw  one  arm  over  the  stern  and  hung  on,  supporting 
Flurscheim  with  the  other  hand.  He  had  not  to  wait 
very  long.  The  accident  had  been  observed  from  the 
deck  of  the  connoisseur's  yacht,  and  two  of  her  crew, 
tumbling  hastily  into  their  own  dingey,  came  swiftly  to 
the  rescue.  Flurscheim  was  hauled  aboard;  Guy  fol- 
lowed, and  as  he  bent  over  the  Jew  his  eyes  opened,  and 
a  glance  of  recognition  came  into  them. 

"  Not  much  the  worse  for  your  ducking,  eh,  Mr.  Flur- 
scheim ?  "  asked  Guy. 

The  connoisseur  struggled  into  a  sitting  position.  He 
held  out  his  hand  mutely.  Guy  took  it  for  a  moment  in 
his,  then  turned  to  the  men  who  had  come  to  their  as- 
sistance. 

He  pointed  to  the  drifting  dingey.  "  If  you'll  get 
hold  of  that,  I'll  pull  myself  aboard,"  he  said  quietly. 
"  Mr.  Flurscheim  will  be  all  right."  He  was  obeyed, 
and  a  minute  later  he  stepped  aboard  the  Witch,  and, 
once  more  taking  the  tiller,  brought  her  up  to  the  wind 
and  steered  for  home. 


GUY'S   LAST   THEFT  221 

Meriel  said  nothing — what  could  she  say?  To  her 
Guy's  action  was  heroic.  His  coolness,  the  absolute  con- 
fidence with  which  he  had  set  about  the  work  of  rescue, 
the  ease  with  which  he  had  performed  the  task  he  had 
set  himself,  revealed  qualities  which  filled  her  with  ad- 
miration. Yet  the  man  who  possessed  these  qualities 
was  a  thief.  No,  there  was  nothing  she  could  say. 

The  Witch  flew  homewards,  and  the  Hall  came  into 
view. 

"Will  you  take  the  tiller  again,  Miss  Challys?"  he 
asked,  as  the  boat  neared  the  buoy. 

She  took  it  from  him  mechanically.  He  went  for- 
ward, hauled  in  the  foresail,  and,  as  the  boat  came  about, 
dropped  the  peak.  The  Witch  drove  leisurely  on  to  her 
moorings,  and  in  a  couple  of  minutes  she  was  fast. 
There  was  no  time  to  waste.  Meriel  hastened  to  his 
assistance.  She  worked  side  by  side  in  stowing  away  the 
canvas.  The  storm  held  off,  though  the  clouds  had 
nearly  covered  the  sky  by  the  time  everything  had  been 
made  snug  aboard. 

"  Come,"  said  Guy,  as  he  drew  the  dingey  alongside. 
Meriel  stepped  into  the  boat,  and  a  dozen  strokes  took 
them  to  the  bank. 

"  We  shall  just  manage  to  get  home  before  the  storm 
breaks,"  he  continued,  as  he  handed  her  ashore,  and, 
following,  made  the  painter  fast  to  the  guide  rope. 

He  was  right  in  his  estimate,  though  they  had  to  has- 
ten their  footsteps  to  gain  shelter,  for  almost  as  soon  as 
they  had  reached  the  top  of  the  wall  the  lightning  blazed 
out,  and  the  thunder  crashed  at  the  same  moment. 
Meriel  had  been  on  the  verge  of  hysteria.  The  atmos- 
pheric tumult  had  come  at  a  time  when  her  nerves  were 


222  THE   MASTER   CRIMINAL 

shattered ;  she  wanted  to  shriek,  but  her  muscles  seemed 
to  fail  her. 

"  A  near  thing,"  said  Guy.  The  equability  of  his  voice 
gave  Meriel  renewed  confidence.  She  looked  up  at  his 
face  and  wondered  that  it  was  flushed  with  delight.  She 
stumbled,  Guy's  hand  steadied  her.  He  caught  her  up  in 
his  arms,  and  carried  her  onwards.  She  felt  a  delicious 
sense  of  safety,  and  immediately  the  thought  followed — 
he  is  a  thief.  They  came  to  the  lawn  gate,  and  he  set 
her  on  her  feet. 

She  forgot  the  storm.  She  laid  her  hand  on  his  arm. 
"  Tell  me  it  is  untrue,"  she  cried. 

He  took  both  her  hands  in  his.  "  I  love  you,  Meriel," 
he  said  simply.  "  I  wish  I  could  say,  '  Yes,  it  is  untrue,' 
but  I  cannot."  He  took  her  arm,  and  hurried  her  across 
the  lawn  until  they  stood  beneath  the  porch.  There,  with 
one  piteous  glance,  she  left  him  without  another  word. 

His  eyes  followed  her  along  the  passage,  then  he  turned 
and  went  out  into  the  storm.  He  was  the  only  living 
thing  abroad,  and  he  rejoiced  in  the  solitude.  He  had 
no  fear  of  the  revolting  elements.  Their  mood  suited 
his.  He  would  have  welcomed  the  flash  which  should 
scar  his  body,  even  as  the  lightning  of  his  emotions  had 
seared  his  soul.  He  had  told  himself  that  his  story 
would  kill  the  love  that  he  had  seen  springing  up  in 
Meriel's  heart,  but  all  the  while  he  had  hoped  that  it 
would  survive  the  stroke  he  would  deal  at  the  root.  How 
much  he  had  hoped,  he  had  not  realised  until  he  saw  the 
anguish  on  her  face,  until  he  saw  that  she  had  shrunk 
from  him.  He  could  have  borne  anger,  taunts  even,  but 
silence — the  silence  of  contempt,  for  so  he  translated 
Meriel's  attitude — that  filled  him  with  bitterness.  There 


GUY'S   LAST   THEFT  223 

was  no  hope  for  him.  He  was  overwhelmed  with  youth's 
Byronic  despair.  Heedless  of  his  path,  he  went  onward. 
The  thunder  crashed,  later  the  rain  fell,  but  he  pressed 
onwards  blindly. 

The  awakening  came  when  the  storm,  passing  away, 
gave  place  to  a  golden  sunset.  Guy  found  himself  far 
away  from  sight  of  human  habitation,  with  the  sea  on 
one  hand  and  on  the  other  the  saltings  stretching  away 
to  the  horizon.  The  passing  of  the  storm  brought  no 
renewal  of  hope  to  him.  He  was  wearied  mentally  and 
physically.  He  knew  the  direction  in  which  Whitsea  lay, 
and  he  turned  his  face  towards  it. 

It  was  dark  by  the  time  he  arrived  at  the  Hall,  and  he 
heard  the  dinner  gong  as  he  entered  the  door.  He  did 
not  obey  his  first  impulse  to  shirk  facing  the  inmates  of 
the  house.  He  threw  off  his  rain-sodden  clothes,  and 
put  on  conventional  dinner  attire  so  swiftly  that  he  was 
ready  before  the  second  gong  sounded. 

"  Meriel  will  not  be  down,"  said  Mrs.  Marven,  as  he 
entered  the  drawing-room.  "  The  storm  has  given  her 
a  headache.  I  am  so  sorry,  as  it  is  your  last  evening." 

Guy  could  only  murmur  something  unintelligible  while 
he  told  himself  bitterly  that  the  girl  would  not  even  look 
upon  him. 


CHAPTER   XXI 

EXPECTATION 

LYNTON  HORA  felt  more  uneasiness  than  he  would  have 
acknowledged  at  Guy's  failure  to  communicate  with  him. 
Nor  did  the  daily  reports  with  which  Cornelius  Jessel 
supplied  him  do  anything-  to  allay  his  disquietude.  These 
would  have  furnished  entertainment  for  the  Commanda- 
tore  had  they  related  to  anybody  but  Guy.  Indeed,  the 
shadow-man's  matter-of-fact  chronicle  of  the  day-by-day 
doings  of  a  young  man  in  love  would  have  been  food  for 
mirth  to  the  mildest  cynic. 

"  Took  G.'s  shaving  water  at  seven.  D d  me  because 

he  scraped  himself  shaving.  Said  I  hadn't  stropped  the 
razors  properly.  As  soon  as  he  was  up  he  went  into  the 
garden  and  helped  Miss  Challys  syringe  the  rose  trees. 
They  went  into  breakfast  together.  After  breakfast  he 
sent  me  down  to  the  village  to  see  if  some  music  he  had 
ordered  for  Miss  Challys  had  arrived.  When  I  got  back, 
found  he  had  gone  out  in  the  boat  with  Miss  Challys 
for  a  sail.  Did  not  come  back  until  dinner-time.  Saw 
them  come  home.  They  had  been  alone  together  all  day. 
Heard  the  Captain  say  to  Mrs.  M.,  *  We  shall  not  have 
to  wait  very  long  now  for  an  announcement.'  She  an- 
swered, '  They  hardly  seem  to  remember  that  there's  any- 
body else  in  the  world.  .  .  .'" 

But  Lynton  Hora  was  not  amused  by  the  report  as  he 
would  have  been  had  Guy  taken  him  into  his  confidence 

224 


EXPECTATION  225 

respecting  what  was  obviously  an  affair  of  the  heart. 
He  knew  Guy  well  enough  to  be  aware  that  he  was 
always  in  deadly  earnest  in  any  pursuit  in  which  he  was 
engaged,  and  he  dreaded  the  influence  which  a  pure, 
straightforward  woman  might  have  upon  him.  If  Meriel 
Challys  had  been  the  sort  of  woman  who  amused  her- 
self by  luring  a  man  on  to  a  declaration,  he  would  have 
been  delighted  at  Guy's  infatuation,  the  lesson  would 
have  been  good  for  him.  But  he  could  not  lull  his  fore- 
bodings by  any  such  narcotic. 

He  saw  Guy  drifting  away  from  him,  throwing  over- 
board the  whole  cargo  of  criminal  philosophy  which  had 
been  so  carefully  provided  for  him,  at  the  bidding  of  a 
mere  girl.  He  had  no  fear  for  himself.  Guy  might 
recant  the  faith  in  which  he  had  been  brought  up,  but 
Lynton  Hora  did  not  for  a  moment  imagine  that  the  re- 
cantation would  be  accompanied  by  any  treachery  towards 
himself.  Loyalty  was  a  distinguishing  feature  of  Guy's 
nature.  He  would  never  reveal  anything  which  would 
injure  the  man  whom  he  looked  upon  as  father.  The 
Commandatore  felt  perfectly  safe  on  that  point,  so  long; 
as  Guy  should  not  learn,  nor  even  suspect,  that  he,  Lyn- 
ton Hora,  was  not  his  father — the  Commandatore  did  not 
pursue  the  thought,  though  he  foresaw  the  possibility 
and  had  provided  what  he  thought  would  be  a  complete 
defence  against  any  trouble  to  himself  through  the  awak- 
ening of  such  a  suspicion.  Lynton  Hora  left  as  little  as 
possible  to  chance,  and  ordinary  caution  had  led  him  to- 
anticipate  the  possibility  of  the  discovery  of  Guy's  real 
parentage,  even  though  the  possibility  was  of  the  re- 
motest. 

But  it  was  not  only  the  question  of  danger  to  himself 


226  THE   MASTER   CRIMINAL 

which  troubled  him.  It  was  the  thought  that  Guy  would 
no  longer  be  his  son.  All  those  years  he  had  spent  in 
moulding  the  boy's  mind  had  not  been  without  effect  on 
Lynton  Hora.  Unknowingly  he  had  given  away  what 
he  did  not  know  that  he  possessed.  It  was  in  reality  a 
real  human  affection  for  his  foster  child  which  made  him 
so  perturbed.  Cold  as  he  had  always  been  in  his  out- 
ward demeanour,  he  had  learned,  when  Guy  had  de- 
parted to  chambers  of  his  own,  that  without  him  life  had 
somehow  suddenly  ceased  to  interest  him.  The  fanatical 
priest  rearing  the  victim  for  sacrifice  upon  the  altar  of  an 
unappeasable  deity  suddenly  realised  that  he  had  learned 
to  love  the  proposed  victim.  Yet,  rather  than  he  should 
fall  under  the  influence  of  the  man  whom  he  looked  upon 
as  his  bitterest  enemy,  he  would  have  sacrificed  the  vic- 
tim even  if  he  should  eternally  regret  the  oblation. 

He  did  not,  it  is  true,  anticipate  such  necessity.  He 
allowed  for  Guy's  youth.  Youth  was  ever  impression- 
able and  romanic,  changing  in  its  fancy,  and  ever  amen- 
able to  the  mutable  feminine.  Once  let  him  be  removed 
from  the  presence  of  Meriel  Challys  and  Hora  thought 
that  Guy  might  be  weaned  from  his  obvious  infatuation. 
Indeed,  there  was  a  probability  that  his  romantic  imag- 
inings might  be  turned  to  account.  The  young  man, 
floundering  out  of  his  depths  in  the  quicksands  of  ro- 
mantic imaginings,  might  be  easily  captured  by  the  wUes 
of  a  really  clever  woman. 

Hora  set  himself  earnestly  to  work  to  tutor  Myra  in 
the  part  he  destined  her  to  play  in  the  recalling  of  Guy. 
He  did  so  entirely  by  suggestion.  He  had  taken  her 
away  from  London,  telling  her  that  she  needed  sea  air 
to  restore  the  roses  of  her  complexion,  if  she  wished  to 


"  You  will  take  me  home  again."— Page  309 


EXPECTATION  227 

be  beautiful  in  Guy's  eyes  when  she  returned  to  town. 
Then,  when  away,  he  continued,  day  by  day,  hour  by 
hour  almost,  to  sting  her  emotions.  His  sneers  were  all 
directed  at  the  virtuous  woman ;  never  had  Myra  found 
him  so  entertaining.  He  excited  her  imagination  by  the 
books  he  brought  her  to  read,  tales  of  passionate  sur- 
render, memoirs  of  the  courts  of  bygone  centuries,  when 
love  and  lechery  were  synonymous  terms.  He  talked  to 
her  much  of  Guy,  dwelling  on  his  physical  attributes, 
declaring  that  he  was  as  other  men.  If  Myra  realised 
any  intention  in  his  words,  she  gave  no  sign  of  doing  so. 
Then  one  day,  soon  after  leaving  town,  Hora  gave  a 
hint  that  perhaps  already  some  rival  was  claiming  Guy's 
kisses.  At  that  suggestion  Myra's  eyes  flashed  danger- 
ously. Hora  noted  the  glance. 

"  There's  only  one  perfect  revenge  upon  a  rival,"  Hora 
remarked,  "  and  that  is  to  steal  away  the  rival's  lover." 

"  You  don't  mean  to  tell  me  that  Guy "  said  Myra, 

heedless  of  the  suggestion.  She  could  not  utter  the  words 
which  would  have  voiced  her  fear  that  Guy  had  already 
given  his  love  to  another. 

"  I  tell  you  that  there  is  a  chit  of  a  girl  in  the  country 
who,  if  she  knew  as  much  as  you  do,  would  have  taken 
Guy  from  us  long  ago.  Fortunately  she  is  a  fool,  or 
Guy  would  be  lost;  as  it  is,  Myra,  your  chance  has  not 
yet  passed." 

She  hoped  not,  and  though  she  doubted,  Hora's  con- 
fidence reassured  her. 

That  same  afternoon,  as  they  passed  a  stationer's  shop, 
with  a  window  full  of  photographs  of  actresses,  Hora 
paused  and  directed  her  attention  to  the  portrait  of  a 
flagrantly  decollet6  woman. 


228  THE   MASTER   CRIMINAL 

"  You  have  a  finer  figure  than  that  woman,"  he  re- 
marked. 

Myra  blushed,  and  they  passed  on  without  another 
word.  Later  on  Myra  returned  to  the  shop  alone  and 
obtained  the  photograph. 

After  dinner  she  let  fall  an  observation  that  her  ward- 
robe needed  replenishing.  Hora  grumbled,  but  she 
teased  him  into  giving  her  a  cheque.  His  face  was  per- 
fectly grave.  Next  day  she  sent  the  photograph  and  the 
cheque,  accompanied  by  a  long  letter  of  instructions,  to 
Madame  Gabrielle,  her  London  dressmaker.  Three 
days  later  Madame  Gabrielle  arrived  in  Scarborough  and 
Myra  gave  the  whole  morning  to  the  tedious  business  of 
fitting.  Hora  asked  no  questions. 

The  day  came  for  their  return  to  town.  Myra  was 
feverishly  anxious  to  be  off,  fearful  lest  Guy  should  be 
back  before  them,  fearful  lest  he  should  not  come  back 
at  all.  He  had  not  written  once,  either  to  her  or  to  Hora 
during  the  whole  fortnight  Hora  did  his  best  to  miti- 
gate her  obvious  anxiety. 

"  No  doubt  we  shall  find  a  letter  waiting  for  us  on  our 
return,"  he  said. 

His  surmise  proved  correct.  The  letter  which  Jessel 
had  posted  for  Guy  that  same  morning  at  Whitsea  was 
lying  on  the  table  in  the  entrance  hall.  Myra  seized  it 
eagerly.  Her  colour  came  and  went  as  Hora  opened  it 
deliberately. 

"  What  does  he  say?    When  is  he  coming?  "  she  cried. 

For  answer  Hora  read  the  letter  aloud. 

"  I  am  returning  to  town  to-morrow,  after  spending 
a  fortnight  with  Captain  Marven,  and  I  have  something 
important  to  tell  you.  I  am  afraid  you  won't  like  what 


EXPECTATION  229 

I  have  to  say,  but  I  cannot  help  myself,  even  if  it  should 
lead  to  a  parting  of  our  ways.  Yes,  I  fear  it  has  come  to 
that.  I  will  come  in  to-morrow  after  dinner,  if  you  will 
be  at  home." 

That  was  all.  Hora's  voice  became  harsh  as  he  read, 
and  as  he  finished  he  crumbled  the  letter  in  his  hand, 
and  threw  it  aside. 

"A  parting  of  the  ways.  It  has  come  to  that,  has 
it?"  he  muttered.  His  face  grew  dark  and  his  eyes 
flashed  dangerously.  "A  parting  of  the  ways,  and  all 
for  the  sake  of  a  milk-and-water  country  girl.  What  do 
you  say  to  that,  Myra?" 

He  turned  suddenly  upon  his  companion.  He  was 
almost  alarmed  at  what  he  saw.  Her  face  was  death- 
like in  its  pallor,  and  in  her  pale  face  her  dark  eyes 
flashed  with  unnatural  brightness.  She  reeled  slightly 
and  grasped  with  both  hands  at  a  table  to  steady  herself. 
He  did  not  press  the  question.  He  led  her  to  a  chair, 
turned  swiftly  to  a  tantalus,  and,  pouring  brandy  into  a 
glass,  held  it  to  her  lips. 

"  You  fool,"  he  said,  and  his  tone  was  kindly,  though 
his  words  were  rough.  "  You  fool,  to  set  such  store 
by  any  piece  of  mere  frail  humanity.  Drink  this." 

Myra  obeyed  the  command.  Gradually  the  colour 
came  back  to  her  cheeks.  She  sat  up,  but  her  mouth 
drooped  at  the  corners,  there  was  despair  in  her  eyes. 

"  I  could  not  help  but  give  him  my  love,"  she  said 
protestingly,  "  and  he  will  have  none  of  it." 

Hora  turned  aside,  and  paced  the  room  irresolutely. 
He  seated  himself  at  a  writing-table,  scribbled  rapidly, 
and,  when  he  had  finished,  brought  the  note  over  to 
Myra.  She  read  it  listlessly. 


THE   MASTER   CRIMINAL 

"  Dear  Guy,"  Hora  had  written,  "  you  are  a  most 
amazing  person,  and  I  haven't  the  slightest  idea  as  to  the 
meaning  of  your  melodramatic  phrases.  You  know  you 
may  always  please  yourself  as  to  anything  you  choose  to 
do.  If  you  do  not  like  your  profession,  by  all  means 
change  it  for  any  of  the  legalised  forms  of  plunder,  but, 
even  if  this  is  in  your  thoughts,  you  need  not  worry  over 
it.  A  man  has  an  inalienable  right  to  please  himself,  and  I 
shall  not  think  less  of  you  for  making  your  own  decision, 
even  if  that  decision  is  one  which  destroys  all  my  hopes 
of  a  successor.  You  will  find  I  can  discuss  the  matter 
quite  philosophically,  but  come  before  dinner  to-morrow 
night,  and  we  will  have  a  quiet  chat  over  a  cigar  after- 
wards. If  our  ways  are  to  lie  apart,  you  need  not 
quite  desert  us.  Perhaps  you  might  even  convince  me, 
not,  perhaps,  that  my  calling  is  not  as  honourable  as  any 
other  parasitic  method  of  living,  but  that  I  might  do  well 
at  my  age  to  retire  from  the  active  practice  of  my  pro- 
fession. Dinner  at  8.30.  Yours,  Lynton  Hora." 

Myra  read  the  letter,  but  the  persual  brought  no  hope 
to  her.  Hora  folded  it,  placed  it  in  an  envelope,  sealed 
and  stamped  it  deliberately.  He  rang  the  bell  and  or- 
dered the  letter  to  be  posted.  Myra  still  sat  silent.  Then 
Hora  said  to  her  quietly: 

"You  will  have  to  entertain  Guy  alone  to-morrow, 
Myra.  I  shall  be  called  away  on  important  business." 

"  I  cannot,  indeed  I  cannot,"  she  cried. 

He  continued  deaf  to  her  protest.  "  It  is  your  only 
chance,  Myra.  To-morrow  night  you  must  win  him  or 
lose  him  forever.  You  must  not  fail " 

He  turned  and  left  the  room,  leaving  the  threat  un- 
spoken. 


EXPECTATION  231 

She  sat  there  long-  after  he  departed. 

Her  only  chance !  In  one  or  two  brief  hours  she  must 
bind  Guy  to  her  indissolubly.  Hora  had  taught  her, 
without  ever  once  uttering  a  word  which  might  offend, 
how  she  could  win  him  if  she  so  chose.  He  had  insisted 
upon  Guy's  chivalrous  nature.  He  had  insisted,  too,  that 
the  most  Puritanical  of  men  could  be  fascinated  by  an 
appeal  to  the  senses.  Thoughts  came  to  her  which  set 
her  cheeks  burning.  But  she  could  not  banish  those 
thoughts.  She  remained  motionless  until  a  maid  ap- 
peared to  ask  if  she  could  see  Madame  Gabrille. 

"Yes,  at  once,"  she  answered.  "Bring  her  to  my 
room." 

Her  listlessness  had  entirely  departed  as  she  rose  and 
hurried  after  the  maid.  A  minute  later  the  dressmaker 
was  ushered  into  her  presence.  The  woman  was  a  volu- 
ble specimen  of  her  type,  and  as  she  unpacked  the  box 
she  descanted  freely  on  the  beauties  of  the  "  creation  " 
she  had  brought  with  her.  She  became  more  voluble 
than  ever  when  Myra  was  robed  in  the  new  frock. 

"  Ah,  but  it  is  ravishing ;  mademoiselle's  figure  is  mag- 
nificent, and  the  tint  suits  mademoiselle's  complexion  and 
colouring  to  perfection.  Oh,  but  it  is  a  pity  mademoi- 
selle is  in  London.  Only  in  Paris  could  such  a  work  of 
art  be  appreciated.  Ah,  mademoiselle  has  the  right  idea 
of  dress.  It  is  a  pleasure  to  make  for  her." 

With  deft  fingers  she  fluttered  round,  settling  a  tuck 
here,  smoothing  a  fold  there.  "Let  mademoiselle  ob- 
serve for  herself,"  said  the  woman. 

Myra  surveyed  herself  in  the  full-length  mirror.  Ma- 
dame Gabrielle  was  right.  Her  skin  was  dazzlingly  fair 
against  the  dull  rose  tint  of  the  fabric.  Cleverly,  too,  had 


232 

the  modiste  followed  the  lines  of  her  customer's  figure. 
Not  a  single  graceful  curve  had  been  hidden.  Yet  Myra 
felt  no  sense  of  nudity.  All  outlines  were  softened  by 
careful  arrangement  of  chiffon. 

Myra  turned  to  the  woman.  "You  have  carried  out 
my  idea  exactly.  I  am  very  pleased,"  she  said. 

Madame  Gabrielle  beamed  with  gratification.  She  be- 
gan again  to  express  her  pleasure  in  gowning  such  a  per- 
fect figure.  Myra  cut  her  short.  She  wanted  to  be  alone. 
When  the  woman  had  departed,  she  approached  the  mir- 
ror again  and  looked  steadily  at  the  reflection.  Taking 
up  a  hand  glass,  she  moved  backwards  and  forwards,  up 
and  down,  posturing  in  a  score  of  different  ways.  Then 
suddenly  she  flung  herself  down  upon  her  knees  by  the 
side  of  a  chair  and  threw  her  arms  in  the  air  with  a  cry 
of  despair.  Something  gave  way  in  the  new  frock,  but 
she  paid  no  heed. 

"  Oh,  Guy,  Guy ! "  she  wailed.  But  the  cry  was  hardly 
uttered  before  it  was  checked.  She  bit  her  lip,  and  looked 
again  at  the  mirror  to  gather  courage. 

She  blushed.  A  string  had  broken,  and  the  bodice  had 
slipped.  Suppose  that  Guy  had  answered  her  call.  Her 
heart  beat  almost  as  tumultuously  as  if  he  had  been  pres- 
ent. She  made  a  pin  do  service  for  the  broken  string, 
and,  smiling  again,  went  in  search  of  Hora. 

She  found  him  in  his  study  with  a  volume  of  the 
*'  Arabian  Nights  "  open  before  him,  but  with  his  eyes 
gazing  into  vacancy.  He  did  not  glance  at  her  as  she 
entered.  She  moved  gracefully  across  the  room  until 
she  stood  before  him,  then  she  asked  simply: 

"  Shall  I  do,  Commandatore  ?  " 

Her  voice  was  low,  alluring,  with  a  spice  of  mockery 


EXPECTATION  233 

in  it.  Hora  looked  up  impatiently,  and  he  caught  his 
breath.  His  impatience  vanished.  A  smile  passed  over 
his  face.  Then  he  looked  critically  at  his  vis-a-vis,  so 
critically  that  Myra  flushed  rosily  and  half  turned  away. 

"Do?"  said  Hora.  "If  I  had  lived  in  the  fifteenth 
century,  I  should  have  declared  that  you  had  been  taking 
counsel  with  the  devil." 

"  Perhaps  I  have,"  she  replied,  but  the  mockery  was 
still  in  her  voice. 

"  I  believe  you  could  bewitch  even  me,  if  you  chose," 
he  said  as  he  looked  again.  "You  would  serve  for  a 
picture  of  temptation  incarnate." 

She  laughed  happily,  and  her  eyes  shone  softly. 

"  It  is  for  Guy,"  she  answered,  "  all  for  Guy." 

Lynton  Hora  recovered  his  wonted  mood. 

"  Lucky  young  devil,"  he  remarked  cynically.  His 
mood  changed  again.  "  Look  here,  Myra,"  he  cried. 
"  You  and  Guy  must  be  married  as  soon  as  it  can  be 
managed.  No,  you  need  not  interrupt  me.  You  can 
keep  him  here  until  I  return,  and  a  special  license  can  be 
obtained.  When  he  leaves  this  flat  it  must  be  only  with 
his  bride.  I  will  make  all  arrangements,  and " — he 
paused  before  continuing, — "  afterwards,  you  shall  have 
your  wish.  Guy  shall  engage  in  no  more  dangerous  en- 
terprises. We  will  sign  an  armistice  with  the  world." 

Myra  gave  a  cry  of  delight.  She  seized  Hora's  hand, 
pressing  it  between  her  own  two  palms.  "  You  are  too 
good  to  me,  Commandatore,"  she  said  earnestly.  "  So 
good  to  me,  and  yet  I  fear.  I — I  don't  want  the  license. 
I  only  want  Guy  to  love  me ;  if — if  he  doesn't " 

Tears  stood  in  her  eyes,  and  a  sob  choked  her  utterance. 

"  Guy  cannot  but  love  you,"  answered  Hora,  and  he 


234  THE    MASTER   CRIMINAL 

truly  believed  what  he  said.  "  No  man  in  his  senses 
could  reject  such  devotion  as  yours,  when  once  he  is 
aware  of  its  depths." 

"  But — I — I  cannot  tell  him,"  she  said  helplessly,  drop- 
ping her  hand. 

Hora  looked  at  her  curiously. 

"No?"  he  said.  "There  will  be  plenty  of  time  for 
that  afterwards.  First  you  have  to  win  him."  He 
caught  one  of  her  hands  in  his  own,  and  something  of 
his  own  virile  power  seemed  to  be  transmitted  to  her. 
"  You  are  irresistible  in  some  moods,  Myra,  and,  if  I 
were  forty  years  younger  and  could  be  foolish  again,  I 
would  take  care  that  Guy  never  came  near  you.  If  you 
wish,  you  may  be  as  certain  of  winning  him  as  that  to- 
morrow will  dawn."  His  tone  denoted  absolute  convic- 
tion. 

Myra  drew  away  her  hand. 

"  Good-night,  Commandatore,"  she  said.  She  gave 
him  her  cheek,  and  he  brushed  it  lightly  with  his  lips  be- 
fore she  turned  away  and  left  him  without  another  word. 

"  Good  heavens ! "  he  muttered  to  himself,  when  the 
door  closed  behind  her.  "  If  I  were  forty  years 
younger "  He  smiled  cynically,  and  added: 

"  I  don't  think  we  have  come  to  the  parting  of  the 
ways  just  yet,  Guy." 


CHAPTER   XXII 

TEMPTATION 

THE  last  evening  Guy  had  spent  at  Whitsea  had 
seemed  interminable.  Both  his  host  and  hostess  had  ob- 
served his  depression,  but  tactfully  took  no  notice.  Then 
when  Guy  was  alone  with  Captain  Marven  he  had  braced 
himself  to  give  what  explanation  he  could.  He  spoke  of 
his  love  for  Meriel — Captain  Marven  was  sympathetic. 
He  spoke  of  its  hopelessness — Captain  Marven  wonj 
dered.  Haltingly  he  revealed  that  he  had  considered  it 
his  duty  to  disclose  facts  concerning  himself  which  had 
placed  an  insuperable  barrier  between  them.  The  initial 
embarrassment  in  finding  speech  once  surmounted,  he 
had  no  difficulty  in  making  clear  to  his  host  that  it  would 
be  best  that  he  should  depart  by  the  earliest  possible 
train.  Captain  Marven  was  greatly  disturbed.  Guy's 
veiled  allusions  were  without  meaning  to  him.  He  even 
feared  that  the  young  man's  brain  was  disordered,  though 
his  demeanour  was  calm  enough  to  reassure  him.  He 
begged  Guy  to  confide  in  him  fully.  Guy  longed  to  do 
so,  but  refrained.  The  thought  of  his  father  restrained 
him.  Marven  was  compelled  to  agree  that  it  was  best 
for  him  to  depart  without  further  speech  with  Meriel. 

So  Guy  left  Whitsea  without  even  seeing  Meriel  again. 
He  had  hungered  for  another  glance  from  her  eyes, 
another  touch  of  her  fingers,  but  neither  had  been  vouch- 
safed to  him. 

235 


236  THE   MASTER   CRIMINAL 

He  left  early  in  the  morning,  and  only  Captain  Marven 
bade  him  adieu.  The  Captain's  hearty  handshake  was 
comforting,  even  though  Guy  felt,  as  the  warm  grasp 
closed  on  his,  that  it  was  given  under  false  pretences. 
He  loathed  himself  more  than  ever  at  that  moment,  and 
there  crept  into  his  mind  the  determination  to  make 
amends. 

But  how?  Guy  could  think  of  no  way,  for  there  was 
his  father  to  be  considered.  He  would  have  liked  to  say 
to  Captain  Marven :  "  You  must  not  take  my  hand.  I 
have  obtained  your  friendship  under  false  pretences. 
I  have  robbed  you  of  your  trust.  Now  I  ask  you  to 
name  the  punishment."  That  would  be  manly,  but  it 
would  be  treachery  to  Hora. 

Guy  groaned  in  his  spirit.  One  thing  he  was  deter- 
mined upon.  In  the  future  the  son  should  not  tread  in 
the  steps  of  his  father.  Hora's  arguments  might  con- 
vince his  understanding,  but  they  would  not  bear  the 
test  of  practical  application.  The  world  was  not  the 
agglomeration  of  warring  atoms  he  had  been  taught  to 
believe.  Honesty  was  not  a  pious  hypocrisy  with  which 
men  deluded  themselves.  A  courage  for  the  forbidden 
was  not  the  greatest  of  all  virtues.  Meriel  had  shattered 
all  these  old  beliefs.  He  knew  that  they  were  gone  for- 
ever, that  in  the  future  Lynton  Hora's  predatory  philos- 
ophy would  cease  to  appeal  to  him.  But  he  had  nothing 
to  take  the  place  of  these  shattered  principles.  Nothing 
but  the  memory  of  a  girl  who,  loving  him,  thrust  him 
away  in  horror  that  he  should  be  a  thief.  He  loathed 
himself  because  he  should  be  an  object  of  loathing  to 
her.  He  could  not  bear  the  idea  that  his  needs  should  be 
supplied  by  means  which  awakened  her  to  such  disgust. 


TEMPTATION  237 

At  least  it  was  within  his  power  to  alter  that.  He  could 
go  out  into  the  world  and  make  his  own  way  honestly. 
If  he  could  not  win  Meriel,  at  least  he  could  prove  him- 
self worthy  of  her.  But  that  would  necessitate  his  cutting 
himself  adrift  from  Hora  entirely.  Well,  he  would  pay 
that  price  gladly.  He  would  waste  no  time  before  doing 
so.  Yet,  though  he  arrived  early  in  town,  he  did  not  go 
at  once  to  Westminster  Mansions. 

He  found  Hora's  letter  awaiting  him  at  his  own 
abode,  and  was  surprised,  even  touched,  by  its  contents. 
Hora  seemed  to  have  guessed  at  the  upheaval  his  opin- 
ions had  undergone,  and  to  be  prepared  to  meet  him  half- 
way. Guy  was  relieved  at  the  thought.  He  had 
dreaded  his  father's  gibes  more  than  aught  else,  and  he 
wondered  what  should  have  happened  to  have  so  sud- 
denly made  the  Commandatore  malleable  to  a  mere  sug- 
gestion— he  who  had  always  been  so  fiercely  insistent 
upon  his  right  to  dominate  the  lives  of  his  children.  Guy 
puzzled  for  hours  for  an  answer.  He  did  not  distrust 
Hora.  The  Commandatore  had  not  been  accustomed  to 
deceive  him. 

Thus  preyed  upon  by  a  whole  host  of  conflicting 
thoughts,  Guy  passed  the  day,  and  at  last  the  hour  arrived 
when  he  was  due  at  Westminster  Mansions.  He  was 
averse  to  accepting  Hora's  hospitality,  to  sit  at  the  table 
supplied  by  means  he  had  learnt  to  detest.  In  a  few  hours 
his  thoughts  had  travelled  a  tremendous  distance.  He 
was  not  of  the  type  which  palters  with  convictions.  Just 
as  whole-heartedly  as  he  had  adopted  Hora's  teachings, 
he  was  prepared  to  tread  the  path  of  rectitude.  But  he 
felt  that  he  would  not  be  at  peace  with  himself  until  he 
had  divested  himself  of  every  vestige  of  the  products  of 


238  THE   MASTER   CRIMINAL 

his  evil  deeds.  Yet,  though  the  acceptance  of  Hora's  in- 
vitation savoured  of  compromise,  he  realised  that  it 
would  be  ungracious  to  refuse.  Hora  had  been  good  to 
him,  even  if  misguided.  There  was  no  need  that  they 
should  part  in  anger. 

It  was  with  the  sense  of  a  prisoner  under  sentence  of 
death  that  he  dressed.  Cornelius  might  have  been  a 
warder  assisting  him  on  the  execution  morn.  It  was  for 
the  last  time.  To-morrow  he  would  be  quite  alone.  He 
set  his  teeth  grimly  and  fought  against  the  feeling  of  de- 
pression as  he  drove  to  Westminster  Mansions.  His  mind 
was  abnormally  active.  He  observed  details  that  would 
have  escaped  his  attention  under  ordinary  circumstances. 
He  saw  that  the  hall  porter  looked  at  him  curiously,  and 
wondered  why.  The  deferential  welcome  of  the  lift  man 
irritated  him. 

Arrived  at  the  flat  he  felt  in  his  pocket  for  the  key  of 
the  outer  door  which  Lynton  Hora  had  insisted  upon  his 
retaining,  and  he  was  annoyed  to  find  that  he  had  left  it 
at  his  chambers.  He  had  intended  to  leave  it  behind  him. 
He  rang,  and  the  man  who  opened  the  door  seemed  sur- 
prised. 

"  Is  my  father  in  ?  "  he  asked,  as  he  handed  the  man 
his  hat. 

"  No,  sir,"  the  man  answered. 

Guy  paused  irresolutely.  He  himself  was  late.  "  Won't 
he  be  back  for  dinner  ? "  he  asked.  Before  he  could 
reply  the  door  of  the  drawing-room  opened. 

"  Is  that  you,  Guy  ?  How  is  it  that  you  troubled  to 
ring?  Have  you  lost  your  key  ?  " 

Myra  came,  with  outstretched  hands,  to  greet  him. 
"  Welch,  take  Mr.  Guy's  coat,  and  we  will  have  dinner 


TEMPTATION  239 

served  at  once,"  she  said  to  the  man,  and,  turning  to  Guy, 
she  continued  rapidly: 

'*  The  Commandatore  was  called  away  on  business,  and 
he  told  me  not  to  wait  dinner.  He  expects  to  be  back 
during  the  evening."  Guy  submitted,  and  followed  her 
into  the  drawing-room. 

"  You  are  a  stranger,  Guy,"  she  said.  "  I  think  it  is 
downright  mean  of  you  to  desert  us." 

Guy,  meeting  her  glance,  told  himself  that  he  had  been 
egregiously  mistaken  in  thinking  that  Myra  had  ever 
thought  of  him  save  as  a  brother. 

"  You  don't  seem  to  have  suffered  from  my  absence," 
he  said  lightly. 

"  Don't  you  think  I  have  grown  thin  ?  "  she  answered. 
There  was  mockery  in  her  tone. 

Guy  was  glad  to  find  her  in  so  cheerful  a  mood.  He 
smiled  back  at  her,  and  for  the  first  time  looked  at  her 
with  seeing  eyes.  She  stood  before  him  in  the  perfec- 
tion of  her  young  womanhood,  glowing  with  health  and 
youth  and  beauty.  Truly  she  was  beautiful.  He  won- 
dered that  he  not  realised  how  beautiful  before.  He 
did  not  know  how  carefully  she  had  studied  the  part  she 
intended  to  play.  He  had  no  idea  that  the  gown,  which 
adorned  and  but  half  concealed  the  contours  of  her  fig- 
ure, had  been  expressly  designed  for  his  allurement. 

"  I  have  never  seen  you  looking  so  well,"  he  answered. 

She  saw  the  admiration  in  his  glance,  but  gave  no  sign 
of  doing  so,  though  her  heart  began  to  throb  with  hope. 

"  I'm  afraid  I  can't  return  the  compliment,"  she  an- 
swered. "  You  look  as  if  you  hadn't  been  to  bed  for  a 
week.  Now  come  along  in  to  dinner  and  tell  me  what 
you  have  been  doing  with  yourself." 


240  THE   MASTER   CRIMINAL 

She  took  his  arm,  and  they  entered  the  dining-room  to- 
gether. "  For  the  last  time,  perhaps,"  he  murmured  to 
himself  regretfully.  Myra  was  a  good  sort,  he  mused. 
Despite  her  waves  of  anger  she  had  always  been  thought- 
ful of  his  welfare.  Yet  she  was  part  of  Hora's  life.  He 
forgot  her  momentarily  in  his  surroundings.  Everything 
was  so  homelike.  Meriel  Challys  was  an  occupant  of 
dreamland,  surely,  and  he  had  never  really  experienced 
all  the  mental  disturbances  which  had  troubled  him.  He 
awoke  to  reality  with  the  popping  of  a  cork. 

"  No  wine,"  he  said. 

Myra  pouted  rosy  lips  at  him.  "  I  insist,"  she  replied 
imperiously.  "  In  default  of  a  fatted  calf,  which  one  can- 
not possibly  get  served  in  a  flat,  I  insist  upon  cham- 
pagne." 

She  lifted  her  glass  to  her  lips.  "  May  all  our  hopes 
come  true !  "  she  said,  and  drank. 

There  was  something  infectious  in  her  gaiety.  Guy 
raised  his  glass  in  response.  "  Amen !  "  he  said  fer- 
vently. The  wine  brought  colour  to  his  cheeks  and 
brightness  to  his  eyes.  He  suddenly  remembered  that  he 
was  hungry,  and  that  he  had  eaten  nothing  since  break- 
fast, and  that  then  a  bare  morsel  of  toast  had  been  almost 
more  than  he  could  swallow.  Myra  watched  him  with  a 
smile  ever  on  her  lips,  and  chattered  vivaciously  of  Scar- 
borough. She  did  not  ask  him  concerning  his  doings. 
She  desired  to  lull  his  memories  to  rest,  and  Guy  was 
willing  to  let  them  slumber.  He  did  not  perceive  that 
danger  threatened  his  new-made  resolutions. 

Under  the  spell  of  Myra's  vivacity  he  became  his 
natural  self.  He  was  even  surprised  when  he  found 
himself  laughing  naturally.  The  dinner  was  not  too  long, 


TEMPTATION  241 

and  every  dish,  Guy  noted,  was  one  for  which  at  one  time 
or  another  he  had  expressed  a  preference.  He  was 
thirsty,  and  his  glass  was  always  full. 

The  dinner  came  to  an  end. 

"  We  will  have  coffee  in  the  drawing-room."  she  said. 
"  Then  I  can  smoke,  too." 

He  rose  and  accompanied  her.  Her  hope  was  growing 
strong  now.  She  was  satisfied  with  her  work  so  far. 
She  had  never  before  held  Guy's  interest  for  so  long  a 
time. 

"  Your  old  chair,"  she  said  to  him,  as  they  entered  to- 
gether. 

A  fire  was  blazing  merrily  on  the  hearth,  for  the  heat 
wave  which  had  swept  the  city  had  been  driven  away  by 
the  storm,  and  the  night  was  cold. 

"  Fires  in  August,"  he  said,  as  he  entered. 

She  looked  at  him  strangely. 

"  There's  something  comforting  to  me  in  the  fire,"  she 
answered.  "  Especially  now  I'm  so  much  alone.  I  often 
have  one  lighted  whatever  the  thermometer  says,  and 
sit  for  hours  looking  into  it." 

She  knelt  down  on  the  snowy  fur  of  the  rug,  and 
stretched  her  arms  to  the  blaze. 

Guy  was  stricken  again  with  a  sense  of  her  beauty. 
Her  eyes  were  half  closed.  She  might  have  been  a 
priestess  offering  an  oblation  to  the  spurting  flames 
which  threw  rosy  shadows  on  her  face  and  arms  and 
shoulders. 

"  I  love  the  fire,"  she  said  dreamily.  "  I  think  I  am 
almost  a  fire-worshipper.  When  the  flames  spring  up, 
my  heart  rejoices  so  that  I  can  sing  aloud,  and  when  they 
die  down  into  a  dull  red  glow,  I  can  dream  and  dream. 


242  THE   MASTER   CRIMINAL 

But  when  the  fire  is  out — Guy!  Don't  you  just  hate 
ashes — cold  ashes?" 

She  turned  on  him  suddenly. 

He  did  not  know  what  to  reply.  He  did  not  know 
Myra  in  this  mood. 

She  looked  again  into  the  fire. 

"  The  end  of  everything  is  ashes,  and  so  I  would  wish 
the  fire  never  to  go  out.  Some  day  our  fires  will  be  out, 
and  we  shall  be  ashes,  too.  Do  you  ever  think  of  that, 
Guy?" 

He  thought  bitterly  that  his  hopes  were  ashes  already, 
but  he  strove  to  infuse  cheerfulness  into  his  reply. 

"  Isn't  that  rather  morbid,  Myra  ?  "  he  said. 

She  turned  towards  him  again,  and  laid  her  hand  on 
the  arm  of  his  chair.  "  No,"  she  answered.  "  I  say 
to  myself,  make  the  most  of  the  fire  while  it  is  there,  for 
to  ashes  it  must  come  at  last.  That's  no  morbid  doc- 
trine." She  laughed  joyously,  and  shot  a  glance  at  him 
beneath  her  eyelids.  "  The  fire  is  alight  in  us  both, 
Guy.  The  fire  of  youth  and  health  and  strength.  Ought 
we  not  to  make  the  most  of  the  fire  before  it  burns  itself 
out?" 

For  half  a  moment  Guy  was  startled.  The  glance,  the 
words,  the  covert  invitation  of  the  outstretched  arms 
dazed  him.  Almost  he  believed  that  the  invitation  was 
to  him.  But  the  thought  passed.  Myra  was  laughing 
again.  "You  see,  I  am  growing  up,  Guy,"  she  re- 
marked. 

A  man  brought  in  coffee  and  liquors.  Myra  waited 
on  Guy,  bringing  him  a  cigarette  and  lighting  it  for  him, 
as  he  sat  in  his  chair.  Then  she  perched  herself  on  the 
arm  to  light  her  own  cigarette  from  his.  As  she  bent 


TEMPTATION  243 

over  him  a  sudden  mad  impulse  to  clasp  her  in  his  arms 
seized  him.  A  memory — the  memory  of  Meriel — came 
before  him  and  the  impulse  passed,  but  it  left  him 
strangely  agitated. 

Myra  seemed  to  observe  nothing  of  this  emotion.  She 
threw  herself  at  length  upon  the  rug,  resting  her  head 
on  her  hand,  gazing  into  the  fire.  The  sinuous  lines  of 
her  figure  were  outlined  clearly  against  the  whiteness  of 
the  rug.  She  rose  suddenly,  and  without  a  word  snapped 
off  the  electric  lights  and,  returning,  threw  herself  down 
again  in  the  same  attitude.  She  seemed  oblivious  of  his 
presence.  The  murmur  of  the  traffic  entered  through 
the  open  window,  the  firelight  flickered.  Guy  began  to 
feel  as  if  some  unknown  agency  were  at  work  to  deprive 
him  of  his  senses.  Myra's  words  dwelt  in  his  mind. 
"  The  fire  is  alight  in  us  both,  Guy.  Ought  we  not 
to  make  the  most  of  the  fire  before  it  burns  itself 
out?" 

There  was  a  murmur  of  voices  in  the  hall.  Guy  lis- 
tened. Perhaps  the  Commandatore  had  returned.  A 
door  closed  sharply.  There  was  no  other  sound.  He 
realised  then  that  the  servants  had  gone.  He  was  alone 
with  Myra  in  the  flat.  It  had  happened  hundreds  of 
times  previously,  but  never  had  he  realised  it  before. 
Perhaps  it  was  that  the  Myra  with  whom  he  had  dined 
was  so  entirely  new  to  him,  an  utterly  different  Myra  to 
the  sisterly  being  with  whom  he  had  quarrelled  and 
petted  when  they  lived  under  the  same  roof.  Supposing 
Hora  should  not  return 

Myra  was  looking  at  him.  She  had  turned  where  she 
lay  and  resting  on  her  elbows  she  was  gazing  up  at  him. 
There  was  a  challenge  in  her  glance. 


244  THE   MASTER   CRIMINAL 

"  Am  I  beautiful,  Guy  ?  "  she  asked. 

His  brain  whirled.  He  fought  against  the  web  which 
seemed  to  be  enveloping  him  against  his  will.  He  did 
not  know  that  the  languor  which  possessed  him  was 
largely  due  to  reaction  after  the  mental  and  physical 
strain  he  had  so  recently  undergone.  His  voice  was 
husky  as  he  evaded  the  question. 

"  What  strange  devil  possesses  you  to-night,  Myra  ?  " 

"  I  am  beautiful,  am  I  not?  "  she  repeated. 

She  had  drawn  herself  up  to  his  knees,  and  knelt  be- 
side his  chair. 

"  You  have  never  told  me  I  am  beautiful,"  she  whis- 
pered coaxingly.  Her  hair  brushed  his  cheeks.  Her  lips 
were  very  near  his.  Without  his  will,  it  seemed,  his 
hand  fell  upon  her  firm  white  arm,  and  he  thrilled  at  the 
touch. 

"Myra,  Myra,  you  will  steal  away  my  soul." 

The  cry  was  wrung  from  him. 

Her  eyes  flashed.  It  was  as  if  the  fire  she  had  spoken 
of  had  burst  into  a  blaze. 

"  I  have  given  you  mine  long  ago,"  she  answered.  Her 
arms  were  thrown  about  him.  "  Guy,  don't  you  know, 
haven't  you  seen  how  I  love  you  ?  "  She  whispered  the 
words  tremulously  while  her  drooping  lids  half  veiled  the 
passion  glowing  in  her  eyes,  and  her  bosom  rose  and  fell 
stormily.  "  No  one  can  ever  love  you  as  I  love  you, 
Guy." 

She  thought  she  was  secure  of  victory.  Her  lips 
half  parted  for  the  expected  kiss.  Guy  had  risen,  hold- 
ing her  tightly  to  him.  She  drooped  in  his  arms.  Al- 
most he  was  won.  "  You  have  stolen  my  love,"  she  mur- 
mured. 


TEMPTATION  245 

What  strange  fate  brought  those  particular  words  to 
her  lips?  Guy,  thrilling  in  response  to  the  passion  which 
throbbed  in  her  veins,  his  senses  enthralled  by  the  diab- 
lerie of  her  beauty,  remembered  that  Meriel  had  used  the 
very  same  words.  He  forgot  where  he  was.  Once  again 
he  was  on  the  deck  of  the  yacht,  becalmed,  and  hope  had 
passed  him  by  with  a  flowing  sail.  Had  hope  come 
again?  Myra  loved  him.  And  he  had  not  stolen  her 
love.  His  conscience  was  clear  there.  Yet  she  loved 
him,  and  he  was  hungry  for  love.  Could  he  give  her  love 
in  return?  He  knew  that  he  could  not.  Passion  he 
could  give,  a  short-lived  fire.  No,  no,  no!  A  thousand 
times  no.  It  would  be  desecration  of  the  memory  he 
cherished.  The  conflict  was  brief. 

He  gently  loosened  the  entwining  arms  which  held 
him.  He  could  not  trust  himself  to  speak.  He  placed 
the  girl  gently  in  the  chair  and  turned  away.  She  sprang 
after  him,  realising  his  intention. 

"  Guy,"  she  cried,  "  you  cannot  be  so  cruel." 

There  was  agony  in  her  voice,  and  despair  in  her  ges- 
ture. She  was  carried  away  by  the  violence  of  her  emo- 
tion. 

"  I  only  ask  you  to  love  me  a  little."  Her  words 
were  those  of  a  child  pleading.  "  I  will  be  so  good,  so 
good.  I  only  want  to  be  near  you,  Guy.  I  won't  ask 
you  to  be  all  mine,  only  that  sometimes  you  will  be  kind 
and  remember  me."  Her  mood  changed.  She  threw 
herself  to  her  knees.  "  I  am  beautiful,  Guy,  I  know  I 
am  beautiful.  There  are  not  many  women  so  beautiful 

as  I  am,  Guy,  and "  She  held  up  her  hands  pleadingly. 

"  You  won't  leave  me  all  alone — stop  just  this  once, 
Guy." 


246  THE    MASTER   CRIMINAL 

He  held  her  hands  tightly,  and  as  she  looked  into  his 
eyes  she  knew  that  her  hope  was  vain.  Her  mouth 
drooped  at  the  corners.  She  freed  her  hands  and 
dropped,  a  pathetic  figure  of  despair,  on  to  the  rug. 

Guy  walked  to  the  door.  But  he  could  not  leave  her 
so.  He  came  back  and  knelt  beside  her. 

"  If  I  believed  in  God,  I  would  say,  '  God  help  both 
of  us,  Myra.' "  There  was  a  quiver  of  pain  in  his  voice. 
"  I,  too,  love,  and  my  love  is  hopeless.  I  did  not  know, 
Myra." 

She  was  listening,  and  now  she  raised  herself.  The 
passion  had  gone  out  of  her  face.  Her  eyes  were  dull. 

"  It  does  not  matter,"  she  said.    "  I  have  been  a  fool." 

He  paid  no  heed  to  her  words,  but  went  on  steadily. 

"  My  love  is  hopeless,"  he  said.  "  I  do  not  think  I 
can  ever  love  again,  but  here  am  I,  and  if  you  think  " — 
he  hesitated  a  moment — "  if  you  think  I  can  make  you 
happy  in  any  way — Myra,  will  you  marry  me?  You 
shall  have  no  cause  to  complain." 

A  sob  shook  her  frame.  "  No,"  she  said,  "  I  have 
been  a  fool.  It  is  your  love  I  want,  and  now  I  know  it 
cannot  be  mine,  I  want  to  be  alone."  She  pointed  to  the 
fire.  "  The  flames  have  died  away.  Soon  there  will 
only  be  dead  ashes.  Help  me  up,  Guy."  He  assisted 
her  to  rise.  "  I  think  I'll  go  to  bed,  Guy,"  she  said. 
"  Good-night." 

She  held  out  one  hand.  He  took  both,  and,  drawing 
her  to  him,  kissed  her.  She  responded  with  a  kiss  inno- 
cent as  a  child's. 

When  she  passed  out  he  left  the  door  ajar.  Later  on  he 
went  to  the  door  of  her  room  and  listened.  He  could 
hear  her  regular  breathing  and  judged  she  slept. 


TEMPTATION  247 

Yet  he  kept  vigil  until  the  dawn  broke.  Then  he  ven- 
tured to  peep  into  her  room.  Yes,  she  slept  with  tears 
glistening  on  her  eyelashes.  The  fear  which  had  beset 
him,  lest  she  should  have  been  tempted  to  end  her  life, 
was  relieved.  He  put  on  his  coat  and  hat,  and  let  him- 
self out. 

"  Poor  Myra ! "  he  thought  pityingly.  He  was  develop- 
ing rapidly.  The  previous  morning  he  had  been  pitying 
himself. 


CHAPTER   XXIII 

'A  FRIEND  IN  ADVERSITY 

BLUE  skies  and  sunshine  and  a  rippling  silver  sea,  all 
nature  jocund  and  gay,  and  for  the  first  time  in  her 
young  life  Meriel  was  unresponsive  to  the  appeal.  The 
romance  had  gone  out  of  life.  The  man  she  had  learned 
to  love  was  a  thief — a  thief.  She  told  herself  fiercely 
that  she  no  longer  loved  him,  that  she  had  never  loved 
him,  but  the  ache  at  her  heart  gave  the  lie  to  the  declara- 
tion. 

The  perpetual  ache  at  her  heart!  If  she  could  only 
have  shared  the  burden  with  Mrs.  Marven,  taken  advan- 
tage of  her  Aunt's  sympathetic  counsel,  sobbed  out  Her 
trouble  and  her  despair  on  that  motherly  breast,  the  pain 
would  have  been  easier  to  bear.  But  she  could  not  do 
that.  Thief  though  he  was,  Meriel  could  not  betray 
Guy's  confidence. 

Mrs.  Marven  wondered  at  the  girl's  reticence.  Yet 
she  waited  in  patience  for  the  confidence  which  was  not 
yet  given.  Sooner  or  later  she  felt  it  would  be  given  to 
her.  Her  husband  had  told  her  of  Guy's  conversation 
•with  him.  She  gathered  that  no  ordinary  blow  had  shat- 
tered her  darling's  romance,  and,  though  she  longed  to 
•counsel  and  to  comfort,  to  mingle  her  tears  with  Meriel's, 
yet  she  did  not  press  her  for  the  confidence  which  was 
withheld. 

Yet,  though  the  girl  suffered,  she  strove  to  put  her 

248 


A   FRIEND   IN   ADVERSITY  249 

misery  from  her,  to  busy  herself  with  trivial  duties.  She 
went  to  the  garden,  but  she  could  not  remain  amongst  the 
flowers.  Her  glance  fell  on  a  rose  Guy  had  tied.  Now 
it  was  battered  by  the  storm,  and  shapeless — like  her 
romance.  She  passed  through  the  garden,  across  the 
meadow,  and  on  to  the  sea-wall.  She  desired  to  be 
alone,  that  was  all.  She  strolled  idly  along,  unseeing 
anything  but  the  tide  slowly  rising  over  the  mud,  quite 
unconscious  of  the  approach  of  an  acquaintance. 

Mr.  Hildebrand  Flurscheim  had  recognised  Meriel 
while  yet  some  distance  away,  and  had  hastened  his  foot- 
steps. He  had  wondered  that  she  was  alone,  but  con- 
gratulated himself  on  the  fact,  for  then  Guy  would  prob- 
ably be  alone,  too.  He  wanted  a  private  conference  with 
Guy.  He,  too,  had  been  troubled  greatly  in  his  thoughts 
during  the  previous  day  and  night.  Ever  since  Corne- 
lius Jessel  had  revealed  to  him  the  fact  that  one  item  of 
his  missing  property  was  in  Guy's  possession,  he  had 
been  rejoicing  in  the  thought  that  vengeance  on  his 
spoliators  was  soon  to  be  within  his  reach.  Not  that  he 
wholly  trusted  the  valet's  word.  The  shadow-man  was 
not  possessed  of  a  confidence-inspiring  personality,  but 
the  man  had  not  asked  for  any  cash  on  account  for  the 
information  he  had  furnished.  Flurscheim  judged  that 
the  informer  must  have  been  quite  convinced  as  to  the 
truth  of  his  information,  or  he  would  not  have  been  so 
confiding.  Flurscheim  had  arranged  with  him  to  secure 
the  miniature  so  that  he  might  identify  it.  After  that  his 
course  would  be  simple.  The  police  would  do  the  rest. 
He  blessed  the  lucky  chance  which  had  brought  him  to 
recognise  the  strange  likeness  which  existed  between 
Meriel  and  the  missing  miniature.  But  for  that  curious 


250  THE   MASTER   CRIMINAL 

coincidence  he  might  never  have  had  the  opportunity  of 
getting  on  the  track  of  his  missing  treasures. 

Meriel  had  been  correct  in  her  intuition  when  she 
read  another  meaning  in  his  warning  to  Guy  to  beware 
of  the  approaching  storm.  He  could  not  resist  the  jest. 
But  then  the  events  which  had  immediately  followed 
played  havoc  with  his  plans  and  projects. 

Guy  had  saved  his  life.  Would  the  man  who  had 
robbed  him  have  done  that?  Hildebrand  Flurscheim  set 
great  store  by  his  life.  When  he  felt  himself  falling,  when 
the  water  closed  over  his  head,  a  great  horror  possessed 
him.  He  struggled  madly,  blindly,  against  the  fearful 
thing.  Then  a  strong  hand  had  gripped  him.  He  had  still 
struggled  until  dimly  he  had  comprehended  that  a  cool 
voice  was  commanding  him  to  be  still,  telling  him  that  he 
was  safe.  The  words  repeated  again  and  again  had  im- 
pressed themselves  upon  his  consciousness.  He  had 
ceased  to  struggle.  He  had  trusted  entirely  to  the  strong 
hand  which  supported  him.  Then,  he  knew  not  how, 
other  hands  had  lifted  him  up  and  taken  him  into  a  boat. 
He  had  opened  his  eyes  and  seen  Guy  clamber  up  over 
the  stern,  had  heard  him  say,  "  Not  much  the  matter,  eh, 
Mr.  Flurscheim?" 

The  experience  seemed  to  have  lasted  hours.  He  said 
little,  but  he  had  insisted,  when  Guy  was  put  aboard  the 
Witch,  on  shaking  the  young  man's  hand.  And  when, 
afterwards,  the  horror  of  those  moments  returned  to 
him  there  was  renewed  in  his  mind  the  feeling  of  grati- 
tude to  his  preserver.  He  was  glad  that  it  was  in  his 
power  to  repay  in  some  measure  the  debt  of  gratitude  he 
owed.  Guy  had  given  his  life.  Well,  he  could  give  Guy 
liberty.  Yet  he  was  not  altogether  satisfied  in  his  mind. 


A  FRIEND   IN   ADVERSITY  251 

He  had  no  reason  for  thinking  that  Guy  had  worked 
single-handed,  and  he  saw  no  reason  why  other  parties 
should  be  participants  in  his  gratitude.  Yet,  rather  than 
Guy  should  suffer,  all  the  guilty  parties  should  escape. 
Certainly  the  experience  of  being  at  hand-grips  with  death 
had  wrought  a  wonderful  change  in  Mr.  Hildebrand 
Flurscheim's  views,  for  it  was  with  this  determination  in 
his  mind  that  he  left  his  yacht,  intending  to  call  at  the 
Hall  and  tell  Guy  of  Jessel's  communication,  and  of  his 
determination  not  to  act  upon  the  information. 

Not  until  he  was  a  yard  away  and  he  spoke,  did  Meriel 
recognise  the  connoisseur.  A  shadow  of  annoyance 
crossed  her  face.  This  man  seemed  to  her  to  be  the 
cause,  though  a  perfectly  innocent  cause,  of  Guy's  un- 
doing. She  bowed  slightly,  and  would  have  passed  by, 
but  Flurscheim  stood  in  her  path. 

"  Pardon  me,  Miss  Challys,"  he  said,  "  can  you  tell  me 
where  I  can  find  Mr.  Guy  Hora?  I  have  something  of 
importance  to  say  to  him." 

There  was  a  shade  of  agitation  in  his  voice.  Meriel 
was  startled.  Again  the  thought  came  to  her,  "  Did  he 
suspect  Guy?  Was  that  the  explanation  of  the  presence 
of  himself  and  his  yacht  at  Whitsea?" 

She  strove  to  answer  steadily. 

"  Mr.  Hora  left  for  London  by  the  first  train  this 
morning." 

An  exclamation  of  annoyance  escaped  Flurscheim.  "  It 
is  most  important  that  I  should  see  him  at  once.  Most 
important.  Will  you  give  me  his  address?  I  must  send 
him  a  wire  immediately." 

The  colour  left  her  face.  She  trembled.  She  was  sure 
now  that  Flurscheim  knew  who  had  robbed  him  of  his 


252  THE   MASTER   CRIMINAL 

treasures,  that  his  anxiety  was  due  to  the  fear  lest  the 
robber  should  escape  him.  How  could  she  warn  Guy? 
How  could  she  refuse  to  supply  Flurscheim  with  the  ad- 
dress he  asked?  Even  if  she  were  to  refuse,  her  aunt 
or  uncle  would  give  it.  They  knew  of  no  reason  why 
it  should  be  kept  secret. 

Flurscheim  saw  her  hesitation,  and  a  strange  suspicion 
germinated  in  his  mind.  "  Surely  she  is  not  one  of  the 
gang,"  he  thought. 

His  intent  gaze  increased  her  discomposure.  His  sus- 
picions increased.  He  ventured  a  bold  stroke. 

"  I  wish  to  make  some  return  for  the  service  Mr.  Hora 
has  rendered  me,"  he  said  quietly.  "  Facts  have  come  to 
my  knowledge  which  go  to  show  that  he  is  in  consider- 
able danger.  If  you  do  not  trust  me,  will  you  convey  to 
him  the  warning?" 

Again  she  looked  at  him  doubtingly.  "  You  would  be 
his  friend  ?  "  she  asked  amazedly. 

"  If  Mr.  Hora  will  allow  me,"  he  answered,  and  seeing 
that  she  still  hesitated,  he  continued  earnestly.  "  Will 
you  not  believe  me,  Miss  Challys,  when  I  say  that  I  would 
do  anything  in  my  power  to  save  Mr.  Hora  from  a  fate 
which  would  mean  absolute  ruin  to  him.  May  I  go  so 
far  as  to  say  that  if  you  are  in  the  slightest  degree  in- 
terested in  his  welfare  you  will  not  waste  any  time  in 
communicating  to  him  the  message  I  will  give  you." 

There  was  a  deep  feeling  expressed  more  in  his  tone 
than  the  words  he  used.  Instinctively  Meriel  felt  that  he 
was  to  be  trusted. 

"  I  will  give  you  Guy — Mr.  Hora's  address,"  she  re- 
marked. "  I  cannot  communicate  with  him  myself." 

"  Why — I  thought "  he  remarked  and  paused. 


A   FRIEND   IN   ADVERSITY  253 

Meriel  did  not  pretend  to  misunderstand  the  swiftly 
checked  exclamation.  She  shook  her  head  sadly. 

"  I  am  a  very  unhappy  girl,  Mr.  Flurscheim,"  she  said, 
and  despite  her  efforts  tears  mounted  to  her  eyes. 

"  There !  There !  There !  Say  no  more,"  interrupted 
the  connoisseur  hastily.  "  Misunderstandings  will  occur 
between  young  people." 

Meriel  again  shook  her  head.  "  Yesterday  Mr.  Hora 
told  me  something  regarding  himself  which  I  could  not 
have  suspected ;  part  of  what  he  told  me  concerned  you, 
Mr.  Flurscheim,  and — so  he  has  gone." 

"  Then  the  miniature  did  not  come  into  his  possession 
by  accident!  "  ejaculated  Flurscheim.  "And  all  the  time 
I  was  hoping  that  it  had." 

"  No,"  said  Meriel.  "  It  was  no  accident."  The  words 
slipped  from  her.  Flurscheim  realised  that  she  knew  all 
about  the  robbery.  He  began  to  question  her  eagerly, 
but  she  would  answer  him  nothing.  Already  she  had 
been  betrayed  into  a  confidence  which  she  regretted,  and 
when  he  realised  her  difficulty,  he  ceased  to  ask  for  de- 
tails. 

"  It  makes  no  difference  in  my  intentions,"  he  said. 
"  Whether  Mr.  Hora  was  himself  the  burglar  who  stole 
my  picture  and  the  miniatures,  or  whether  he  was  only 
one  of  the  parties  who  handled  them  afterwards,  would 
make  no  difference  to  my  course  of  action.  If  he  is 
warned  immediately  there  will  be  time  for  him  to  clear 

out  of  the  way.  If  not "  He  shrugged  his  shoulders 

expressively. 

"  But  why  ?  "  asked  Meriel. 

Flurscheim  repeated  the  story  Jessel  had  told  him. 

"  I  can  keep  the  man's  mouth  closed  for  a  certain  time," 


254  THE   MASTER   CRIMINAL 

he  said,  "  but  sooner  or  later  he  will  blab  it  out,  and  once 

the  police  get  on  the  track "  Again  he  shrugged  his 

shoulders. 

Meriel  was  more  than  ever  amazed  at  the  Jew's  atti- 
tude. She  let  some  of  her  surprise  escape  in  speech. 

"  You,  knowing  where  some  of  your  valuables  are,  are 
willing  to  forego  all  chance  of  their  recovery,  to  let  the 
— the  thief — go  unpunished?  You  who  everybody  says 
had  determined  to  spend  the  whole  of  the  rest  of  your 
life  on  the  recovery." 

The  Jew  spread  out  the  palms  of  his  hands  in  a  char- 
acteristically racial  gesture. 

"  The  rest  of  my  life,"  he  said.  "  My  life  would  have 
been  ended  yesterday  but  for  Mr.  Guy  Hora.  Strange  as 
it  may  seem,  life  is  very  good  in  my  eyes.  I  might  never 
have  known  how  good  but  for  my  accident.  It  was  slip- 
ping away  and  he  gave  it  back  to  me.  That  was  a  debt 
which  I  must  repay.  Miss  Challys,  never  yet  have  I  failed 
to  meet  every  obligation  that  I  have  incurred.  Ask  Chris- 
tian or  Jew  who  has  ever  had  dealings  with  me  if  Hilde- 
brand  Flurscheim  has  ever  failed  to  take  up  his  bond 
when  it  became  due." 

She  murmured  something  about  the  nobility  of  his  at- 
titude, but  he  would  not  accept  any  such  complimentary 
description. 

"  It  is  just  my  business  point  of  view,"  he  remarked 
drily.  "  Suppose  I  put  the  value  of  the  pictures  at  fifty 
thousand  pounds.  Personally  I  would  give  double  that 
amount  for  my  life,  though  I  should  very  much  doubt 
whether  anybody  else  would  give  as  many  pence." 

Laughter  and  tears  strove  for  mastery  in  her  face. 

"You    have    greatly    relieved   my    mind,    Mr.    Flur- 


A   FRIEND   IN   ADVERSITY  255 

scheim,"  she  said  softly.  "  Though  I  shall  never  see 
Mr.  Hora  again,  yet  I — I  could  not  bear  to  think  of  him 
in  prison." 

"  You  had  better  see  him  again,  and  quickly,  too,  if 
you  want  to  keep  him  out  of  it,"  snapped  the  Jew 
promptly  in  response.  "  It  will  want  a  woman's  hand  to 
do  that,  and  from  what  I  have  observed  you  are  about 
the  only  person  in  the  world  who  has  half  a  chance  of 
succeeding." 

The  direct  attack,  voicing  the  thought  she  had  striven 
to  suppress,  brought  the  colour  surging  to  her  cheeks. 
"  Don't  you  understand,"  she  cried.  "  He  is  a  thief — a 
thief." 

"  He  seems  to  be  a  rare  plucky  one  anyway,"  answered 
Flurscheim.  Meriel  laughed  hysterically.  "  There ! 
There !  There !  "  said  the  connoisseur  in  his  most  soothing 
manner,  "  I  didn't  mean  to  hurt  you,  and  I  can  see  you 
are  very  much  upset.  Perhaps  we  will  talk  over  this  bad 
business  later  and  see  what  we  can  manage  between  us." 

There  was  so  much  kindness  in  his  manner,  so  real  a 
delicacy  in  his  whole  attitude,  that  Meriel  felt  more  than 
ever  inclined  to  confide  the  whole  story  to  him.  He  was 
a  man  of  the  world.  He  owed  Guy  a  debt  of  gratitude. 
She  had  not  promised  Guy  to  keep  silence.  He  had 
never  asked  her,  for  he  had  realised  that  the  request 
would  have  been  an  insult.  There  was  little  time  to  ar- 
gue the  matter  with  herself.  Flurscheim  was  impatient 
to  depart.  She  obeyed  the  impulse. 

"  Mr.  Flurscheim,"  she  said,  "  will  you  treat  what  I 
tell  you  as  strictly  confidential,  and  take  no  action  without 
my  permission  ?  " 

"  I  give  you  my  word,"  he  said  gravely. 


256  THE    MASTER   CRIMINAL 

Meriel  glanced  round  her.  No  living  soul  was  in  sight. 
They  stood  alone  upon  the  sea-wall.  Flurscheim  noted 
her  glance. 

"  There's  no  chance  of  being  overheard,"  he  remarked. 

At  a  little  distance  was  a  stile  in  a  rail  fence  which 
separated  one  meadow  from  another.  Flurscheim 
pointed  to  it. 

"  Come  along,"  he  said  brusquely,  and  there  the  girl 
made  known  to  her  companion  the  story  of  Guy's  life 
as  she  had  heard  it  from  his  lips. 

"  He  is  not  so  greatly  to  blame,  is  he,  Mr.  Flur- 
scheim ?  "  she  asked  eagerly,  when  she  had  finished  the 
narration.  "  And  yet  nothing  can  alter  the  fact  that  he 
is  a  thief." 

The  Jew  had  listened  with  growing  amazement.  To 
him  the  story  seemed  the  wildest,  maddest  romance  he 
had  ever  heard.  He  could  scarcely  believe  his  ears.  To 
Meriel's  appeal  he  could  only  reply  at  first  with  an  He- 
braic invocation,  uttered  beneath  his  breath.  Then  he 
asked,  "  And  you  really  think  he  was  telling  the  truth  ?  " 

"  If  you  had  seen  his  face,  you  would  have  had  no  need 
to  ask  the  question,"  she  answered  sorrowfully. 

"  It's  the  tallest  story  I've  ever  heard,"  he  remarked. 
"  But  whether  true  or  not,  if  we  want  to  do  anything 
for  him  the  first  step  is  to  get  him  out  of  the  hands  of 
that  old  scoundrel  of  a  father,  and,"  he  added,  "  I  am 
more  than  ever  convinced  that  only  a  woman  can  do 
that.  Think  it  over,  Miss  Challys,  think  it  over."  He 
glanced  at  his  watch.  "  Now  if  you  will  give  me  his  ad- 
dress, I  will  be  off.  I  have  a  number  of  things  to  do  be- 
fore returning  to  town." 

She  gave  him  the  address.    She  responded  heartily  to 


A   FRIEND    IN    ADVERSITY  257 

his  farewell,  and  as  she  stood  watching  him  as  he  has- 
tened along  the  path  towards  the  quay  it  seemed  to  her 
that  already  the  burden  of  her  trouble  was  lightened. 
She  trusted  Flurscheim  implicitly,  and  yet  twenty-four 
hours  previously  she  would  have  been  prepared  to  assert 
that  he  would  have  been  the  last  person  in  the  world  of 
whom  she  would  have  taken  counsel  in  her  distress. 

Not  that  her  mind  was  at  rest.  She  merely  was  re- 
lieved from  anxiety  as  regards  Guy's  immediate  safety. 
As  to  the  future  there  was  no  trace  of  a  silver  lining  to 
the  clouds.  Guy  and  she  had  parted.  Yet  Flurscheim's 
words  stuck  in  her  brain.  "  Only  a  woman  could  help 
him."  Only  a  woman! 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

INSPECTOR    KENLY    CONTEMPLATES    ACTION 

EVENTS  were  coiling  themselves  swiftly,  and  Lynton 
Hora  at  the  very  centre  of  the  coil  was  inert,  motionless, 
unaware  of  the  web  which  was  being  spun  about  him. 
Indeed  some  of  those  various  parties  who  were  the  ac- 
tors in  the  events,  the  puppets  who  had  been  set  in  mo- 
tion by  Hora's  initiative  to  spin  the  web  for  his  own 
entwining,  were  unaware  even  that  they  were  spinning 
such  a  web. 

But  Inspector  Kenly  knew.  He  guessed  that  there 
must  have  been  some  master  mind  behind  Guy's  exploits, 
and  once  he  had  fixed  upon  Lynton  Hora  as  the  posses- 
sor of  that  master  mind  he  was  a  sleuth  hound  on  the 
trail.  Where  Hora  was,  Kenly  was  not  far  distant. 
When  Hora  left  Westminster  Mansions  on  the  night  of 
Guy's  arrival,  Kenly  was  at  his  heels.  He  tracked  him 
to  a  railway  station,  back  from  the  railway  station  to  one 
of  the  big  London  hotels.  He  did  not  leave  the  prem- 
ises until  Hora  had  retired  for  the  night.  Then  he  went 
back  to  Westminster  Mansions  and  learned  of  Guy's  ar- 
rival there.  He  was  very  curious  as  to  the  meaning  of 
the  movements  of  the  two  men.  He  could  not  watch 
them  both,  and  though  he  longed  to  have  followed  the 
business  through  without  assistance  the  risk  had  become 
too  great.  He  went  in  haste  to  Scotland  Yard  and 
requisitioned  the  assistance  of  a  subordinate  to  watch  the 

258 


KENLY   CONTEMPLATES   ACTION       259 

Mansions.  He  himself  returned  to  the  hotel.  He  was 
still  more  astounded  next  morning  when  Hora  returned 
quietly  to  his  own  abode,  and  was  totally  unable  to  de- 
duce anything  from  the  fact  that  Guy  had  left  the  flat 
at  daybreak.  It  was  so  mysterious  that  he  could  not 
rest.  He  went  again  to  the  Yard  and  asked  for  another 
man. 

"  I  think  I  am  on  the  track  of  the  Flurscheim  gang," 
he  explained.  "  It's  only  a  case  of  suspicion  at  present, 
and  I  still  have  the  Foreign  Office  business  in  hand." 

"  The  Yard  "  was  sore  at  its  failure  to  solve  the  mys- 
tery of  the  stolen  picture,  and  a  dozen  men  would 
have  been  at  the  Inspector's  command  if  he  had  so 
desired.  He  promised  to  explain  later,  saying  that  the 
necessity  for  placing  his  men  was  urgent,  and  so  he  man- 
aged to  keep  his  information  to  himself.  His  instruc- 
tions to  his  subordinates  were  simple  and  explicit.  Un- 
seen themselves,  one  was  to  follow  Lynton  Hora,  the 
other  was  not  to  lose  sight  of  Guy.  If  either  of  the  two 
under  surveillance  attempted  to  leave  the  country  he  was 
to  be  detained.  The  warrant  would  be  forthcoming  if 
needed.  Already  the  Inspector  had  his  information 
drawn  out.  But  there  were  three  names  in  that  infor- 
mation, and  the  third  was  that  of  Captain  Marven. 

His  subordinates  instructed  in  their  duties,  the  detec- 
tive hurried  off  to  the  Foreign  Office.  Ever  since  the 
Permanent  Secretary  had  suggested  asking  Captain  Mar- 
ven for  an  explanation  Kenly's  mind  had  been  busy  with 
the  idea.  Though  he  r:p/l  b?en  horror  stricken  at  first, 
the  more  he  pondered  over  it,  the  more  advantageous  it 
seemed.  Though  Captr.in  Marven's  name  appeared  in 
his  unsworn  information,  he  still  doubted  whether  the 


260  THE   MASTER    CRIMINAL 

King's  Messenger  could  be  hand  in  glove  with  the  Horas. 
If  the  suggested  interview  took  place  in  his  presence,  he 
would  be  able  to  judge  by  the  Captain's  demeanour  as 
to  whether  he  was  in  any  way  implicated  in  the  despatch 
business.  If  implicated  in  that,  there  would  be  every  rea- 
son to  suspect  that  he  must  have  had  a  hand  in  the  Flur- 
scheim  burglary.  So  he  sought  out  the  Permanent  Sec- 
retary and  proffered  his  request.  It  met  with  a  ready 
acceptance.  "  Captain  Marven,"  said  the  Secretary,  "  is 
next  on  the  rota  for  service.  If  I  had  not  employed  him, 
the  mere  fact  would  have  caused  comment  as  well  as 
arousing  his  suspicions,  and  I  really  could  not  have  em- 
ployed him  while  this  cloud  is  hanging  over  him." 

"  He  will  be  expecting  a  call  to  town  then  ?  "  asked  In- 
spector Kenly.  "If  he  gets  the  usual  notice  he  will  be 
taken  entirely  by  surprise  on  finding  why  he  has  been 
summoned." 

"  I  will  wire  for  him,  if  you  like,"  said  the  Permanent 
Secretary. 

"  No,"  said  the  detective,  "  to-morrow  will  do." 

"  Then  I'll  have  a  letter  sent  to  him  in  the  ordinary 
way,"  said  the  Permanent  Secretary.  "Of  course,  you 
understand,"  he  continued,  "  that  we  shall  take  no  ac- 
tion in  regard  to  the  despatch  business  beyond  dispensing 
with  Captain  Marven's  services.  It  would  be  fatal  to 
our  diplomacy  if  the  impression  were  to  get  abroad  that 
any  of  our  people  were  not  absolutely  trustworthy." 

Inspector  Kenly  looked  aghast.  "  But,  what  if  he  is 
concerned  in  the  other  business  ?  "  he  asked.  "  Mustn't 
he  pay  the  penalty  ?  " 

"  The  penalty  of  twenty-four  hours'  law  in  whicfi  to 
get  out  of  England,  with  someone  in  charge  of  him  to 


KENLY   CONTEMPLATES   ACTION       261 

see  that  he  does  not  communicate  with  the  rest  of  the 
gang,"  said  the  Permanent  Secretary  drily.  "  Exile  will 
be  punishment  enough  in  itself." 

Inspector  Kenly  sighed.  He  saw  his  case  robbed  of 
one  of  its  most  sensational  features,  and  he  loved  to  see 
sensational  headlines  to  the  newspaper  reports  of  the 
cases  in  which  he  was  engaged.  He  left  the  Foreign 
Office  less  elate  than  he  had  entered  it,  but,  indefatigable 
still,  he  visited  each  of  his  subordinates  in  turn.  Neither 
had  any  movement  to  report.  Both  Lynton  Hora  and 
Guy  remained  in  their  own  abodes.  Kenly  thought  that 
he  had  earned  a  little  repose.  He  got  into  a  cab,  drove 
to  the  railway  station,  and  took  a  train  to  Wimbledon. 
He  fell  into  a  doze  before  the  train  started,  and  in  his 
dreamy  state  he  thought  longingly  of  white  sheets  which 
were  awaiting  him  at  Woodbine  Cottage.  For  forty- 
eight  hours  he  had  not  closed  his  eyes.  He  felt  thor- 
oughly wearied. 

He  alighted  at  his  station  and  stepped  out  briskly 
homewards.  Then,  as  he  turned  into  Melpomene  Road, 
he  saw  in  front  of  him  a  figure  which  he  recognised.  He 
was  so  surprised  that  he  pinched  himself  to  assure  him- 
self that  he  was  not  dreaming. 

"  My  friend  Mr.  Jessel,  by  Henry !  "  he  remarked.  "  I 
wonder  what  he  is  doing  down  in  this  quarter  again." 

He  moderated  his  pace  and  followed  Jessel  until  the 
latter,  on  arriving  at  the  gate  of  Woodbine  Cottage, 
lifted  the  latch  and  entered.  By  the  time  the  Inspector 
had  reached  the  gate  Cornelius  had  knocked  at  the  door, 
and  as  Kenly  raised  the  latch,  Mrs.  Inspector  Kenly  ap- 
peared in  answer  to  the  summons  of  her  late  lodger.  But 
Mrs.  Kenly  paid  no  attention  to  her  visitor.  Her  glance 


262  THE   MASTER   CRIMINAL 

had  travelled  beyond  him  and  rested  on  her  husband, 
whom  she  had  not  seen  for  a  fortnight.  She  brushed 
the  astonished  Cornelius  aside  and  darted  along  the  little 
path.  The  shadow-man  felt  quite  embarrassed  by  the 
warmth  of  the  connubial  greeting.  He  called  attention 
to  his  presence  by  a  little  cough.  It  was  successful. 
Kenly  looked  over  his  wife's  shoulder  and  gave  a  well 
feigned  start  of  surprise. 

"  Blessed  if  it  isn't  our  friend,  Mr.  Jessel,"  he  re- 
marked. "  Who  ever  would  have  thought  of  seeing  you 
here  again  ?  Anyhow,  I  take  it  very  kindly  your  looking 
us  up  so  soon.  Come  in,  old  chap,  come  in.  You  must 
excuse  the  missus  and  me.  I'm  only  just  back  from  my 
little  holiday,  you  know.  We  don't  do  this  sort  of  thing 
in  the  front  garden  every  night." 

Mr.  Jessel  smiled  and  Mrs.  Kenly  opened  her  eyes 
widely.  She  had  never  known  her  husband  to  be  so  ef- 
fusive with  a  lodger,  new  or  old.  But  like  a  wise  woman 
she  said  nothing,  but,  blushing  a  little,  seconded  her  hus- 
band's invitation. 

"  If — if  I  had  known  you  were  expected,"  said  Jessel 
turning  to  Kenly,  "  I  would  have  postponed  my  call  for 
an  hour.  Perhaps  you  will  allow  me  to  come  back  a 
little  later." 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  Kenly  heartily.  "  Come  in  and  have 
a  cup  of  tea  with  us.  I'm  sure  the  wife  will  be  proud  to 
give  you  one." 

Mrs.  Kenly  opened  her  eyes  wider  than  ever.  She 
could  very  well  have  dispensed  with  her  late  lodger's  com- 
pany, but  she  had  suddenly  realised  that  her  husband 
must  have  some  hidden  reason  for  his  geniality.  Had 
he  not  arrived  at  Jessel's  very  heels?  Scenting  a  mys- 


KENLY   CONTEMPLATES    ACTION       263 

tery  she  played  up  to  the  Inspector's  lead,  and  Jessel, 
visibly  gratified  by  the  warmth  of  the  greeting,  no  longer 
rejected  the  proffered  hospitality.  In  a  very  few  min- 
utes he  was  seated  at  the  detective's  table  doing  justice 
to  the  delicacies  which  Mrs.  Kenly  produced  from  larder 
and  cupboard  in  honour  of  her  lord's  return. 

He  had  soon  revealed  the  motive  for  his  call.  He 
wanted  to  know  if  the  room  he  had  occupied  was  still 
unlet,  for,  if  so,  he  desired,  having  suddenly  lost  his  situ- 
ation, to  return  to  the  place  where  he  had  been  so  com- 
fortable. Mrs.  Kenly  hardly  knew  what  to  reply.  She 
was  already  in  negotiation  with  another  party.  But  her 
inclination  towards  so  quiet  and  well  behaved  a  lodger 
as  Mr.  Jessel,  strengthened  by  the  surreptitious  nod  of 
approval  from  her  husband,  ultimately  led  to  her  de- 
claring that  she  thought  the  negotiations  in  progress 
might  be  broken  off  and  Mr.  Jessel  installed  in  his 
former  quarters. 

Cornelius  was  delighted,  and  said  so. 

"  I  should  like  to  come  in  this  very  night,"  he  said.  "  I 
have  nowhere  but  an  hotel  to  go  to,  and  I  never  can  sleep 
at  an  hotel." 

Again  in  obedience  to  her  husband's  mute  request  Mrs. 
Kenly,  after  a  decent  amount  of  hesitation,  acceded  to 
his  wishes,  and  when  the  shadow-man  at  last  left  them 
it  was  merely  to  fetch  his  baggage. 

Mrs.  Kenly  accompanied  the  returned  lodger  to  the 
door,  and  when  she  returned  to  the  parlour  she  found 
that  her  husband  had  disappeared. 

"  Well,  I  do  think  he  is  not  treating  me  quite  fairly," 
she  murmured,  and  unaccustomed  tears  rose  to  her  eyes. 
But  they  dried  rapidly  as  she  heard  a  thud  on  the  floor 


264  THE   MASTER   CRIMINAL 

of  the  room  overhead  and  recognised  the  fall  of  a  boot. 
She  hastened  upstairs  and  found  her  husband  already 
half-undressed. 

"  Whatever  in  the  world  is  the  matter,  Joe?  "  she  asked. 
Inspector  Kenly  grunted. 

"  Can't  keep  my  eyes  open  any  longer,  not  if  you  were 
to  prop  up  the  lids  with  steel  bars,  Loo,"  he  answered. 

His  eyes  were  not  so  closely  shut,  however,  that  they 
were  unable  to  detect  the  disappointment  which  was  ex- 
pressed in  his  wife's  face.  He  caught  her  in  his  arms 
and  imprinted  a  couple  of  kisses  on  her  lips. 

"  I  haven't  had  a  wink  of  sleep  for  forty-eight  hours," 
he  said,  "  and  I  only  wish  I  could  do  without  for  another 
forty-eight.  But  a  nap  while  I  get  the  chance  will  make 
another  man  of  me.  Now  listen,  Loo.  What  time  did 
Jessel  say  he  was  coming  back  ?  " 

"  He  said  he  was  afraid  that  it  would  not  be  much  be- 
fore midnight,"  replied  Mrs.  Kenly. 

"  Give  me  a  call  at  11.30,  then,"  said  Inspector  Kenly, 
and  he  tumbled  into  bed  and  gave  a  huge  sigh  of  relief. 
Then  he  raised  his  head.  "  If  he  gets  back  earlier  call 
me." 

"  But  what  makes  you  so  interested  in  Mr.  Jessel  ? " 
she  asked,  unable  any  longer  to  restrain  her  curiosity. 

"  Come  here,  Loo,"  said  Kenly,  and  as  his  wife  drew 
near  he  whispered,  "  That  young  man  is  mixed  up  in 
some  way  with  the  Flurscheim  burglary.  No,  don't  in- 
terrupt. I  haven't  time  to  tell  you  all  about  it,  and  that 
is  much  more  than  I  ought  to  have  told  you.  Now  you 
know  why  I  was  so  anxious  that  you  should  get  him 
back  here." 

"  But  suppose  he  doesn't  come  back,"  said  Mrs.  Kenly. 


KENLY   CONTEMPLATES   ACTION       265 

"  He  will  come  back  right  enough,"  answered  the  de- 
tective drowsily  as  he  laid  his  head  again  upon  the  pil- 
low. 

"  But,"  said  Mrs.  Kenly,  and  then  paused.  Her  hus- 
band's eyes  had  closed.  His  mouth  was  slightly  open. 
In  another  few  seconds  an  unmistakable  snore  made  it- 
self heard.  Mrs.  Kenly  drew  the  blinds  and  noiselessly 
withdrew  downstairs.  She  was  excited,  but  not  too  ex- 
cited to  neglect  her  ordinary  duties. 

The  hours  passed  slowly.  When  ten  and  eleven  had 
gone  without  any  sign  of  Jessel  she  began  to  be  alarmed. 
Still  he  had  said  he  might  not  be  back  until  midnight. 
At  half  past  eleven  she  aroused  her  husband,  thought- 
fully taking  with  her  a  cup  of  tea.  He  was  sleeping  so 
soundly  that  she  was  compelled  to  shake  him  before  he 
could  be  aroused.  She  had  just  succeeded  when  the 
sound  of  a  cab  drawing  up  in  the  street  outside  the  gar- 
den gate  arrested  her  attention.  Kenly  heard  it  too,  and 
sprang  out  of  bed. 

"  Keep  him  talking  until  I  come  down,"  he  said. 

The  next  minute  the  modest  knock  at  the  door  an- 
nounced Jessel's  arrival,  and  Mrs.  Kenly  hurried  down- 
stairs to  let  him  in. 

"  Half  afraid  I  should  have  found  you  all  in  bed,"  he 
said  as  he  entered.  "  You  don't  mind  leaving  the  door 
open  while  I  fetch  my  bags  ?  " 

By  the  time  he  had  made  two  journeys  to  the  cab 
Inspector  Kenly  was  standing  by  his  wife's  side,  and  he 
was  inviting  the  shadow-man  to  join  him  in  a  nightcap 
before  retiring  to  rest. 

Cornelius  was  agreeable.  He  followed  his  host  into 
the  tiny  parlour  where  Mrs.  Kenly  produced  a  bottle  and 


266  THE   MASTER   CRIMINAL 

glasses  from  the  sideboard  and  a  jug  of  hot  water  and  a 
lemon  from  the  kitchen. 

"  It's  just  like  coming  'ome,"  said  Jessel. 

"  We'll  make  you  feel  at  home  here,  right  enough,"  re- 
plied the  Inspector. 

When  a  little  later  Mrs.  Kenly  said  good-night  and  re- 
tired Jessel  felt  so  much  at  home  indeed  that  he  was 
easily  persuaded  to  take  "  just  one  more "  before  fol- 
lowing her  example.  He  grew  quite  talkative,  yet  even 
under  the  detective's  skilful  guidance  he  could  not  be  led 
to  speak  upon  the  one  subject  which  his  host  was  anxious 
to  get  him  to  talk  about.  Kenly  was  afraid  to  put  lead- 
ing questions  lest  he  should  become  alarmed  too  early. 

There  was  a  time  for  all  things,  however,  and  the  time 
came  when  the  Inspector  thought  it  desirable  that  his 
companion  should  receive  a  shock.  It  arrived  when, 
after  Jessel  had  knocked  the  ashes  out  of  his  pipe  and 
remarked  that  he  thought  it  was  about  time  to  turn  in. 

"  There's  one  thing  I  want  to  ask  you  first,"  remarked 
the  detective  quietly.  "  Who  was  the  old  gentleman, 
got  up  like  a  parson,  who  came  to  visit  you  here  ?  " 

The  shot  told.  Jessel  grew  suddenly  pale  and  his  jaw 
dropped.  "  Old  gentleman  ?  What  old  gentleman  ?  "  he 
stammered. 

Kenly  did  not  reply  immediately.  He  walked  across 
the  room  and  deliberately  turned  the  key  in  the  lock 
and  placed  the  key  in  his  pocket.  Then  returning  he 
took  a  card  from  his  waistcoat  pocket  and  laid  it  on  the 
table  before  his  companion. 

"  You  don't  seem  to  be  aware  who  I  am,  Jessel,"  he 
said  pleasantly. 

Mechanically  Cornelius  lifted  up  the  card,  and  as  he 


KENLY    CONTEMPLATES   ACTION       267 

read  his  face  grew  longer  than  ever.     He  laid  the  card 
on  the  table.     Kenly,  noticing  his  shaking  hand,  smiled. 

"  Detective  Inspector  Kenly  from  Scotland  Yard," 
said  Cornelius,  as  if  bewildered. 

"  That's  me,"  declared  Kenly.  "  And  I  mean  to  have 
an  answer  to  the  question  I  have  just  asked  you."  Jes- 
sel's  confusion  was  almost  pitiable  to  witness.  The  mine 
that  had  been  sprung  upon  him  took  his  breath  away. 
To  think  that  he  had  been  a  tenant  of  a  member  of  the 
detective  force,  sleeping  under  the  same  roof,  and  that 
the  Master  had  come  to  see  him  there  was  too  preposter- 
out  to  be  believed. 

"  You — you're  joking,"  he  stammered  at  last. 

"  Not  the  least  little  bit  in  the  world,  as  you  will  find 
out  to  your  cost,  Mr.  Jessel,  if  you  don't  answer  my  ques- 
tions," replied  Kenly  readily.  Then  he  added,  "  I  know 
all  about  you,  so  I  really  think  it  will  be  best  for  you  to 
meet  me  in  a  friendly  way." 

Cornelius  remembered  a  dozen  little  schemes  of  his 
which  had  brought  him  in  cash  which  would  not  bear  the 
light  of  day,  and  his  heart  quailed.  He  never  for  a  mo- 
ment imagined  that  Kenly  was  merely  bluffing.  Still  he 
made  an  effort  in  his  own  defence. 

"  You — you  know  nothing  against  me,"  he  asserted. 
"  I — I've  never  done  anything  wrong."  His  tone  and 
manner  gave  the  lie  to  his  assertion,  and  Kenly  began  to 
feel  on  safe  ground. 

"  You  may  not  think  so,  but  I'm  quite  sure  a  magistrate 
would  not  agree  with  you,"  said  Kenly  with  conviction. 
"  Still  I  don't  suggest  testing  the  matter  if  you  will  tell 
me  what  I  want  to  know." 

Cornelius  saw  no  means  of  escape.    He  surrendered  at 


268  THE   MASTER   CRIMINAL 

discretion,  and  when  the  conference  was  ended  the  de- 
tective was  in  possession  of  the  whole  story  of  the  shadow- 
man's  connection  with  Guy  Hora.  from  the  moment  when 
he  had  been  employed  by  "  the  Master  "  to  watch  over 
him  until  that  day  when  Guy  had  suddenly  paid  him  a 
month's  wages  and  bidden  him  depart  at  once. 

Long  after  the  conference  was  ended  the  detective 
brooded  over  the  information  which  had  come  into  his 
possession.  He  could  not  understand  it.  Jessel  was 
manifestly  unaware  of  the  identity  of  the  man  he  called 
"  The  Master  "  with  Lynton  Hora.  Nor  could  he  sug- 
gest any  reason  why  Guy  should  have  so  suddenly  dis- 
pensed with  his  services.  The  detective  did  not  en- 
lighten Cornelius  on  the  first  point,  nor  did  he  suggest 
that  the  second  fact  might  have  been  due  to  some  dis- 
covery made  by  Guy  that  the  casket  containing  the  stolen 
miniature  had  been  tampered  with.  Jessel  had  revealed 
everything,  even  the  momentous  discovery  he  had  made, 
the  discovery  he  had  communicated  to  Mr.  Hildebrand 
Flurscheim. 

Kenly  tired  of  puzzling  his  brain  after  a  while  with 
theories.  He  made  his  way  once  more  up  to  his  bedroom 
and  resumed  the  sleep  from  which  he  had  been  awakened. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

THE    PARTING    OF    THE    WAYS 

A  MINUTE  after  Guy  had  peeped  into  her  bedroom 
Myra  awakened.  Her  sleep  had  been  short  and  she 
awoke  unrefreshed.  She  arose  mechanically  and  was 
surprised  that  her  maid  was  not  there,  that  her  bath  was 
not  ready.  She  looked  at  a  clock  and  saw  that  the  hour 
was  not  yet  five.  She  lay  down  again  upon  her  bed  and 
watched  the  clouds  chasing  each  other  across  the  sky. 
She  fell  to  counting  them  as  they  crossed  her  field  of 
vision,  bounded  by  the  two  sides  of  the  window  frame. 
In  the  first  hour  there  were  seventy-two,  between  six 
and  seven,  twenty-one,  between  seven  and  eight,  only 
three.  When  the  maid  came  at  half  past  eight  the  sky 
had  been  untarnished  for  a  whole  half  hour. 

She  told  the  girl  to  make  the  bath  hot.  The  hot  water 
was  very  comforting.  She  found  a  physical  satisfaction 
in  the  caress  of  the  warm  water.  As  a  child  she  had  al- 
ways delighted  in  her  bath.  She  recalled  her  childish  de- 
light. Anything  to  keep  thought  at  bay. 

After  the  bath  she  dressed  slowly.  The  maid  was  ex- 
asperated, but  Myra  was  quite  heedless  of  the  fact.  The 
day  was  hardly  begun,  and  there  were  so  many  hours  in 
the  day  to  be  filled  somehow  with  anything  that  would 
stave  off  thought.  At  eleven  she  ordered  breakfast  and 
sat  down  alone  to  it.  The  dishes  went  away  untouched. 
She  took  a  newspaper  into  the  drawing-room,  but  she  got 

269 


270  THE    MASTER   CRIMINAL 

no  further  than  the  door.  It  was  there  Guy  had  re- 
jected the  love  she  had  offered  him.  She  had  no  feeling 
of  shame,  only  she  could  not  remain  there.  She  went 
instead  to  Lynton  Hora's  study.  The  room  awakened 
another  thought.  What  would  the  Commandatore  say? 
He  had  told  her  to  keep  Guy,  and  Guy  had  gone.  She  re- 
membered Hora's  unuttered  threat,  but  she  had  not  great 
fear  of  his  anger.  Still  she  knew  he  would  be  angry, 
for  Guy  had  offered  to  marry  her,  and  she  had  refused 
the  offer.  It  was  not  marriage  she  wanted,  only  to  be 
loved,  and  she  was  compelled  to  refuse.  But  the  Com- 
mandatore would  blame  her,  for  Guy  had  gone.  Her 
lips  drooped  at  the  thought.  Her  spirit  was  broken. 

Lynton  Hora  returned.  She  heard  his  step  in  the 
hall,  the  firm  footstep  followed  by  the  shuffle  of  his 
lamed  leg.  But  she  did  not  attempt  to  move.  He  came 
straight  to  his  own  room.  She  did  not  even  glance  up 
as  he  entered. 

"  Where's  Guy  ?  "    His  voice  was  harsh. 

"  Gone,"  she  replied  without  lifting  her  eyes. 

For  a  minute  no  other  word  was  spoken.  Hora  paced 
the  room,  up  and  down  from  door  to  window,  and  every 
time  he  turned  to  face  Myra  the  scowl  on  his  face  deep- 
ened. Her  manifest  distress  awakened  no  pity  in  him. 
He  even  marvelled  that  he  had  ever  thought  her  beauti- 
ful. Her  face  was  dull  and  expressionless,  the  lustre  had 
gone  from  her  hair,  her  figure  drooped  despondently. 
She  recalled  to  his  mind  a  dropsical  old  woman,  clad  in 
rags,  with  a  palsied  hand  grasping  at  a  bottle  of  gin  in  a 
dilapidated  outhouse  in  Fancy  Lane. 

"  When  is  he  coming  back  ?  "  he  snarled  again. 

"  Never." 


THE   PARTING   OF   THE   WAYS         271 

Did  her  lips  fashion  the  word?  She  had  no  warrant 
for  making  so  definite  a  reply,  but  she  knew  that  it  was 
true. 

Hora's  anger  nearly  loosened  a  torrent  of  invective. 
But  he  refrained.  What  was  the  use  ?  Myra  had  failed. 
Guy  was  lost  to  him.  She  was  of  no  use  to  him  now. 

"  If  Guy  has  gone,  you  had  better  take  yourself  off, 
too,"  he  said  deliberately. 

She  did  not  appear  to  hear  him,  and  he  repeated  the 
command  with  growing  irritation. 

He  was  surprised  to  see  the  tears  trickle  down  her 
cheeks  and  the  corners  of  her  mouth  turn  downwards. 
There  had  been  no  snivelling  about  Myra  in  the  past. 

"  I  could  not  help  Guy  going.  He  does  not  love  me," 
she  said  meekly. 

Hora's  scorn  could  no  longer  be  restrained.  "  Love," 
he  sneered.  "  The  world  is  mad  on  the  subject,  the  be- 
sotted idiocy  of  immature  brains.  Because  a  girl  would 
and  a  boy  won't  a  man's  plans  and  schemes  are  to  be 
wrecked.  I'll  be  alone  in  future.  You  can  take  yourself 
off  as  soon  as  you  like." 

"  Where  am  I  to  go  ?  "  she  asked. 

Hora  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  You  have  the  whole 
world  to  choose  from,"  he  sneered.  "  Go  where  you 
like;  your  native  gutter  is  about  the  only  place  which  is 
really  suitable,  but  I  don't  care  where  you  go  so  long  as 
you  do  not  cross  my  path  again." 

For  the  first  time. Myra  looked  up.  She  met  his  glance, 
and  so  fierce  an  anger  blazed  in  his  eyes  that  a  thrill  of 
physical  fear  passed  through  her.  Had  she  been  in  her 
normal  condition  the  anger  would  have  awakened  an 
answering  flame  in  herself.  But  she  was  broken  in  spirit. 


272  THE   MASTER   CRIMINAL 

She  shrank  from  meeting  his  anger.  She  rose  listlessly 
from  her  chair  and  went  out  of  the  room.  She  supposed 
that  she  must  obey.  She  had  always  obeyed  Hora.  But 
it  was  very  hard  to  be  turned  out  thus.  Where  to  go? 
That  was  a  difficult  question  to  decide  at  a  moment's 
notice.  Perhaps  the  Commandatore  was  right,  and  that 
her  proper  place  was  the  gutter.  The  Commandatore 
was  usually  right. 

She  gathered  together  some  of  her  jewels,  and  dressed 
herself  in  one  of  her  smartest  frocks.  She  had  a  vague 
idea  that  she  was  doing  unwisely,  but  the  bright  colour 
attracted  her.  Her  brain  had  room  for  only  one  thought. 
She  pinned  on  her  hat  carefully  and  went  quietly  out. 
She  did  not  cast  one  glance  backwards.  The  bracelet 
Guy  had  had  made  for  her  from  the  stones  which  had 
originally  encircled  the  miniature  was  still  clasped  upon 
her  arm. 

Hora  saw  her  leave,  but  he  made  no  effort  to  check 
her.  He  had  not  intended  to  turn  her  from  his  door,  and 
noting  the  frock  and  the  hat  he  was  quite  easy  in  his 
mind.  "  She  will  return,"  he  said  to  himself,  and 
straightway  began  to  think  of  Guy.  If  Guy  was  never 
going  to  return,  Hora  foresaw  that  he  must  seek  him 
out.  He  acted  upon  the  decision  at  once,  and  drove  away 
to  the  Albany.  He  still  had  belief  in  his  own  powers  of 
persuasion.  The  thought  of  using  Guy  as  a  tool  for  his 
revenge  had  passed  entirely  out  of  his  mind.  He  wanted 
nothing  but  that  Guy,  the  son  of  his  adoption,  should 
come  back  to  him. 

At  the  Albany  he  arrived  to  find  the  newly  furnished 
chambers  in  confusion.  Guy  himself  opened  the  door 
to  admit  him.  He  did  not  appear  surprised  at  the  visit. 


THE   PARTING   OF   THE   WAYS         273 

Hora  enquired  why  Guy  had  answered  the  door  him- 
self. 

"  I've  got  rid  of  my  man,"  said  Guy. 

"Retrenchment?"  asked  the  Commandatore. 

"  Yes,"  said  Guy. 

"  I  don't  see  the  necessity,"  said  Hora. 

"  I  do,"  answered  Guy  with  gravity. 

Hora  had  followed  him  into  the  sitting-room  and 
stood  there  expectantly.  "  Why  ?  "  he  asked  pointedly. 

Guy  hesitated.  There  was  so  much  to  explain  that  he 
did  not  know  where  to  begin.  Hora's  next  question  did 
not  make  his  task  easier. 

"  Myra  tells  me  that  you  have  deserted  us,  is  it  true  ?  '* 
he  asked. 

"  I  can  hardly  say  definitely.  The  answer  in  all  prob- 
ability will  not  rest  with  me,"  replied  Guy. 

He  realised  suddenly  the  whimsicality  of  the  position 
in  which 'he  was  momentarily  placed — the  position  of  de- 
fending himself  from  the  charge  of  refusing  to  continue 
a  criminal  existence.  The  thought  won  a  smile  from  his 
lips. 

"  You  cannot  tell  me  ?  "  said  Hora.  "  Have  you  con- 
sidered thoroughly  ?  "  He  stepped  forward  and  laid  his 
hand  on  the  young  man's  arm.  "  Have  you  considered 
what  such  a  decision  would  mean  to  me,  Guy  ?  I  am  get- 
ting on  in  years.  You  have  always  been  with  me.  I 
might  go  far  to  meet  your  wishes,  even  to  the  extent  of 
abandoning  my  profession,  if  I  could  keep  you  with  me." 

"  It  would  not  be  enough."  Guy's  answer  was  stern 
and  hard. 

Hora  was  startled  by  the  tone.  "  What  more  can  you 
require  ?  "  he  asked. 


274  THE   MASTER  CRIMINAL 

"What  more?"  said  Guy  bitterly.  "What  more?" 
His  face  flushed  and  he  held  up  his  hand.  "  Atonement," 
he  replied,  "  atonement  for  the  past." 

There  was  accusation  in  Guy's  tone,  and  Hora  shrank 
under  it,  but  he  rallied  his  wits.  "Why  so  melodra- 
matic ?  "  he  sneered. 

"Oh,  I  know  it  sounds  ridiculous  in  your  ears,"  he 
answered,  "  but  I  see  no  other  way  of  regaining  my  own 
self-esteem."  He  turned  fiercely  on  Hora.  "  Why  did 
you  bring  me  up  differently  from  other  boys  ?  Why  did 
you,  day  by  day,  week  by  week,  and  year  by  year,  instil 
into  my  ears  your  lying  philosophy  ?  Why  did  you  make 
your  son  a  thief — a  thief?" 

All  the  concentrated  bitterness  of  Guy's  musings  was 
infused  into  the  concluding  words.  Hora's  lips  grew 
pale  and  his  hands  trembled  as  he  listened.  He  recog- 
nised the  emotion  from  which  Guy  suffered  by  the  mem- 
ory of  his  own  experience  when  he  had  himself  been 
branded  in  the  light  of  day  and  the  sight  of  all  men. 
Still  he  strove  to  meet  the  point  of  view. 

"  I  thought  you  had  learned  to  place  their  true  value 
upon  conventional  terms,"  he  remarked. 

"  I  have,"  said  Guy,  more  bitterly  than  before.  "  I 
have  learned  that  a  thief  is  a  thief  whatever  spohistry 
may  be  used  to  throw  a  glamour  of  romance  over  his 
actions.'* 

"  I  never  taught  you  otherwise,"  remarked  Hora, 
"  only  that  all  men  are  thieves,  only  that  the  hypocritical 
many  steal  under  the  cloak  of  the  law,  and  the  intellectu- 
ally honest  few  pursue  their  avocation  in  defiance  of  the 
law.  Why  reproach  yourself  for  intellectual  honesty  ?  " 

Guy  made  no  reply  and  Hora  plunged  into  argument. 


THE    PARTING   OF   THE   WAYS         275 

"  What  is  theft  ?  Merely  the  acquisition  of  the  de- 
sirable by  unconventional  means.  Is  it  a  virtue  to  gratify 
your  desire  by  the  same  process  as  the  dull  souls  that  are 
presumably  dignified  by  the  name  of  common  humanity? 
If  so,  virtue  is  a  mere  synonym  for  mediocrity.  I  thought 
you  knew  better,  Guy.  I  thought  that  you  had  learned 
that  man  owes  his  chief  duty  to  himself,  that  his  desires 
are  meant  to  be  gratified,  that  the  most  courageous  way 
of  gratifying  his  desires  is  the  only  way  for  man  to  at- 
tain his  highest  development." 

He  pursued  the  theme  with  animation.  Guy  had 
seated  himself,  leaning  his  head  on  his  hand.  Hora 
thought  that  his  attitude  was  one  of  deep  attention.  When 
he  paused  for  breath  Guy  spoke: 

"  It  is  of  no  use,  Commandatore.  I  have  gone  over  the 
same  arguments  with  myself  a  hundred  times,  but  I  can 
no  longer  persuade  myself  that  they  are  anything  but 
sheer  sophistry." 

Lynton  Hora  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  I  don't  under- 
stand why  your  opinions  should  have  undergone  so  sud- 
den a  change." 

"  And  yet  you  have  known  a  good  woman's  love  ?  " 
said  Guy  suddenly. 

The  remark  stung.  Hora's  eyes  flashed  and  his  lips 
closed  tightly  for  a  few  seconds  before  he  trusted  him- 
self to  speak. 

"  So  that's  the  explanation,"  he  said  at  last.  "  I 
thought  as  much.  A  woman  is  responsible  for  every 
man's  folly,  and  you  like  the  rest  are  ready  to  abuse 
your  intellect  at  the  bidding  of  some  muling  miss  whose 
intelligence  will  never  allow  her  to  discern  the  asses' 
ears  which  adorn  the  image  of  the  great  divinity  con-- 


276  THE    MASTER   CRIMINAL 

vention  which  she  worships  in  common  with  the  ma- 
jority of  her  feeble-minded  fellows.  Who  is  this  won- 
der who  has  robbed  you  of  the  use  of  your  brains?  Am 
I  right  in  guessing  that  she  is  of  the  family  of  that 
prince  of  hypocrites,  Marven?  I  can  see  I  am  right. 
And  for  one  of  that  brood  you  will  cut  yourself  adrift 
from  me,  clothe  yourself  in  the  ready-made  fustian  of 
the  dull  herd !  An  honest  woman's  love !  There  was 
never  an  honest  woman  to  be  found  amongst  the 
Challys  or  Marvens " 

His  anger  had  carried  him  out  of  himself,  and  too 
late  Hora  perceived  that  his  virulent  tongue  had  said 
too  much. 

Guy  had  drawn  himself  up,  pale  with  anger. 

"  Sir,"  he  said,  "  I  must  ask  you  to  leave  me  to  my- 
self. I  cannot  listen  to  abuse  of  one  who  is  more  to  me 
than  anyone  else  in  the  world." 

Hora  strove  to  undo  the  effect  of  his  words.  "  Chiv- 
alrous as  ever,  Guy,"  he  remarked  quietly,  though  despite 
his  intention  a  sneer  curled  his  lips  at  what  appeared  to 
him  a  ridiculous  exhibition  of  sentimentalism. 

Guy  did  not  reply  to  the  taunt.    He  continued  steadily : 

"  I  must  ask  you  to  leave  me,  yet  before  you  go,  I  will 
give  you  fair  warning  of  my  intentions.  You  have 
learned  of  the  alteration  in  my  opinions.  I  have  told  you 
that  only  by  atonement  shall  I  feel  that  I  can  regain  my 
self-esteem.  There  is  only  one  atonement  I  can  make." 

"  Yes,"  said  Hora  breathlessly. 

"  I  intend  to  surrender  myself  to  justice,"  said  Guy, 
"  within  the  next  forty-eight  hours." 

Lynton  Hora  was  stunned.  The  utter  madness  of  the 
idea  left  him  bereft  of  the  power  of  speech  for  a  mo- 


THE    PARTING   OF   THE   WAYS         277 

ment,  and  when  the  capacity  returned  to  him  he  could 
only  think  of  one  argument. 

"  You  are  not  reckoning  on  Meriel  Challys  marrying 
you  when  you  have  '  atoned/  as  you  call  it,"  he  said. 

Guy  shook  his  head.  "  I  have  no  hope,"  he  said 
wearily.  "  Good-bye,  Commandatore." 

Hora  made  no  answer.  He  knew  that  it  was  useless 
to  argue  with  Guy  any  longer.  The  set  of  his  lips,  the 
angle  of  his  jaw,  the  quietude  with  which  he  made  the 
announcement  were  eloquent  of  determination.  The 
door  closed  behind  him  and  he  went  out  into  the  street 
as  one  dazed.  The  first,  a  merely  momentary  impulse, 
was  to  leave  Guy  to  his  own  devices.  But  that  passed. 
He  became  possessed  by  fear — an  overpowering  fear  of 
imminent  danger  to  himself.  He  judged  rightly  that 
Guy's  chivalry,  the  chivalry  which  was  leading  him  to 
sacrifice  himself  to  an  ideal,  would  equally  compel  him 
to  keep  silence  in  regard  to  his  confederate.  But  Guy's 
silence  would  not  protect  him  if  enquiries  were  pushed 
home  in  regard  to  either  of  the  two  adventures  in  which 
Guy  had  taken  part.  Lynton  Hora  knew  that  he  could 
not  escape  suspicion,  and  suspicion  once  awakened  he 
knew  that  his  career  would  come  to  an  end.  There 
loomed  before  his  mind  the  long  days  of  dull  routine, 
the  still  longer  nights  behind  the  locked  doors,  the  coarse 
food  of  the  prison,  the  horrible  convict  dress.  Fur- 
tively he  looked  over  his  shoulder,  for  it  seemed  to  him 
that  a  hand  was  almost  outstretched  to  grasp  him. 

Pooh !  There  was  nobody  taking  any  notice  of  him. 
The  pleasant-featured,  sunburnt  man  who  passed  him 
at  the  moment  could  have  no  idea  whose  sleeve  he  had 
brushed.  The  Master  crushed  down  his  fear.  Guy  must 


278  THE   MASTER   CRIMINAL 

be  protected  against  himself,  and  there  was  no  time  to 
waste.  A  lunatic  asylum?  Certainly  Guy  was  mad 
enough  for  one.  But  there  would,  be  many  difficulties 
to  be  surmounted,  and  time  was  short.  Hora's  mind  be- 
came active  as  it  always  did  under  stress  of  necessity. 
Was  there  no  one  who  could  prevail  upon  Guy  to  forego 
his  intention,  no  argument  which  would  appeal  to  him? 
Stay.  There  was  one  which  might  succeed.  Supposing 
Guy  were  to  learn  his  real  parentage. 

Lynton  Hora  hastened  his  steps.  He  saw  one  chance 
of  saving  Guy  from  the  consequences  of  his  folly,  of 
saving  himself  also,  and  at  the  same  time  paying  his  debt 
of  hatred.  Captain  Marven  assuredly  would  never  allow 
his  son  to  consign  himself  to  a  gaol.  Guy  would  be  too 
chivalrous  to  smirch  the  fair  fame  of  a  family  to  which 
Meriel  belonged.  With  his  mind  dwelling  on  this  ex- 
pedient, Hora  looked  behind  him  no  more.  He  was  not 
aware  that  the  man  with  the  sunburnt  face  kept  him 
steadily  in  view  until  he  disappeared  into  his  own  abode. 
He  did  not  suspect  that  Detective  Inspector  Kenly,  for 
he  was  the  man  who  had  brushed  his  sleeve,  waited 
patiently  until  he  reappeared  again  and  followed  him  dis- 
creetly until  he  knocked  at  the  door  of 'Captain  Mar- 
ven's  town  house.  The  Inspector  only  saw  in  that  fact 
one  additional  piece  of  evidence  of  Marven's  guilty  con- 
nection with  the  Horas.  He  saw  that  Hora  put  a  pack- 
age into  the  hands  of  the  servant  who  opened  the  door, 
and  he  made  a  mental  note  of  the  fact.  He  guessed  that 
the  King's  Messenger  had  arrived  in  town  in  obedience 
to  the  summons  which  had  been  sent  him,  and  he  as- 
sumed that  he  had  communicated  the  fact  of  his  ar- 
rival to  Hora.  Still  at  the  heels  of  his  quarry  he  re- 


THE   PARTING   OF   THE   WAYS         279 

turned  again  to  Westminster  Mansions,  and  there  he 
transferred  the  duty  to  one  of  his  subordinates.  The 
hour  was  two  in  the  afternoon,  and  at  three  he  was  to 
be  a  fourth  at  the  interview  between  Captain  Marven 
and  the  Great  Man  and  the  Permanent  Secretary  at  the 
Foreign  Office. 


CHAPTER   XXVI 
CAPTAIN  MARVEN'S  SURPRISE  PACKET 

WHEN  in  response  to  the  official  summons  Captain 
Marven  returned  to  town  he  was  more  perturbed  than 
he  would  have  cared  to  confess,  at  the  disastrous  ending 
to  Meriel's  love  affair.  The  intimacy  of  everyday  life 
had  only  confirmed  the  favourable  impression  Guy  had 
produced  upon  him,  and  he  had  looked  forward  with 
pleasure  to  welcoming  him  as  a  member  of  his  family. 
But  altogether  apart  from  the  question  of  his  own  grati- 
fication, he  was  deeply  pained  that  a  cloud  should  have 
cast  its  shadow  on  the  girl's  happiness,  and  he  be  able  to 
do  nothing  to  dissipate  it.  He  was  in  that  condition  of 
mind  when  trifles  are  apt  to  irritate  the  best  conditioned 
of  men,  and  he  was  consequently  as  nearly  discourteous 
as  it  was  possible  for  him  to  be  when  Mr.  Hildebrand 
Flurscheim  thrust  himself  into  the  same  compartment  of 
the  railway  train.  As  a  travelling  companion  Flurscheim 
was  the  last  person  in  the  world  he  would  have  chosen, 
and  he  strove  to  ignore  his  presence  by  burying  himself 
in  a  newspaper. 

But  Flurscheim  was  not  accustomed  to  be  ignored. 
He  took  no  notice  of  Marven's  coolness,  but  chattered 
away  incessantly,  and  at  last  he  succeeded  in  capturing 
the  Captain's  attention. 

"  There  seems  to  have  been  some  trouble  between  the 
young  people,"  he  had  remarked. 

"Really,  I  cannot  conceive  that  if  there  is  it  can  be 

280 


MARVEN'S   SURPRISE   PACKET          281 

any  business  of  yours,  Mr.  Flurscheim,"  replied  Marven 
frigidly. 

The  Jew  had  taken  no  notice  of  the  snub. 

"  I'm  not  so  sure  of  that,"  he  had  answered.  "  I  am 
not  so  sure  but  that  I  may  not  be  successful  in  putting 
matters  straight  between  them." 

"  What  on  earth  are  you  driving  at?  "  asked  the  Cap- 
tain. 

Flurscheim  smiled.  "  It's  not  a  matter  I  can  talk 
about,"  he  answered,  "  without  the  permission  of  others, 
but  I've  seen  how  interested  you  are  in  Mr.  Guy  Hora, 
and  I've  put  my  own  construction  on  your  looking  a  bit 
down  in  the  mouth  this  morning.  I  hope  you'll  excuse 
me  speaking  straight  what's  in  my  mind,  and  if  I'm  mis- 
taken, I  apologise  for  my  interference.  That's  my  im- 
pression, anyway,"  he  continued,  as  Captain  Marven  did 
not  reply,  "so  I  thought  that  I  would  tell  you  that  I 
think  I  know  what  is  troubling  Mr.  Hora,  and  that  I 
also  think  it  is  in  my  power  to  clear  up  the  trouble.  Of 
course,  I  may  be  mistaken,  but  I  hope  I  am  not,  for  I 
owe  your  young  friend  a  debt  I  can  never  hope  fully  to 
repay." 

He  spoke  so  earnestly  that  Marven's  reserve  and  irrita- 
tion melted  away,  and  the  two  men  parted  at  the  London 
terminus  on  the  best  of  terms  with  each  other. 

But  although  Marven  had  not  learned  anything  as  to 
the  nature  of  Flurscheim's  intended  action  he  felt  easier 
in  his  mind,  for  he  realised  that  the  Jew  was  very  much 
in  earnest,  and  he  drove  off  to  his  town  house  to  make 
his  preparations  for  his  anticipated  journey  with  a  far 
lighter  heart  than  he  had  possessed  when  leaving  Whit- 
sea. 


282  THE   MASTER   CRIMINAL 

These  preparations  were  soon  completed,  and  he  was 
sitting  down  to  a  hastily  prepared  luncheon  when  Lyn- 
ton  Hora  had  knocked  at  his  door.  Hora  had  not  an- 
ticipated finding  Captain  Marven  in  town,  but  had 
merely  called  in  order  to  ascertain  with  certainty  where 
the  letter  he  had  written  would  find  him.  Then 
finding  that  Marven  was  in  the  house,  he  had  left  the 
packet  with  instructions  that  it  was  to  be  immediately 
delivered. 

The  package  Hora  had  left  was  a  bulky  one.  Mar- 
ven merely  glanced  at  it  when  the  servant  brought  it  to 
him.  Not  until  he  had  finished  lunch  did  he  cut  the 
string.  When  the  wrapper  was  unfolded  and  he  had 
shaken  out  the  contents  his  face  paled,  and  he  gasped 
for  breath.  There  seemed  but  little  reason  for  his  agi- 
tation; the  parcel  contained  nothing  but  a  child's  pina- 
fore and  a  letter.  Yet  the  sight  of  the  pinafore  was 
quite  sufficient  to  blur  his  vision  and  set  his  hands  shak- 
ing. He  recognised  it.  He  knew  it  instantly,  without 
the  necessity  for  turning  to  the  corner  where  the  letters 
G.  M.  were  embroidered  by  his  wife's  own  hand.  "He 
sprang  to  his  feet  and  rang  the  bell  violently. 

"  Where  is  the  man  who  brought  this  parcel  ?  "  he  de- 
manded directly  the  servant  who  had  waited  on  him 
made  her  appearance.  His  anxiety  was  so  great  that  the 
woman  was  terrified,  and  some  minutes  elapsed  before 
he  could  obtain  from  her  a  connected  account  of  Hora's 
call.  She  seemed  to  think  she  must  have  been  in  some 
way  to  blame  for  receiving  the  package.  Marven  suc- 
ceeded ultimately  in  reassuring  her,  and  sent  her  out 
hastily  to  see  if  the  messenger  still  lingered  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood. He  followed  to  the  door  and  was  grievously 


MARVEN'S   SURPRISE   PACKET          283 

disappointed  when  she  declared  that  he  was  nowhere  to 
be  seen.  Bethinking  himself  of  the  unopened  letter  Tie 
returned  to  the  room  where  he  had  left  it.  The  envelope 
was  similar  to  many  which  had  reached  him  previously, 
on  the  anniversary  of  his  child's  disappearance,  but  when 
he  opened  it  he  saw  that  it  contained  much  more  than 
the  three-lined  typed  message  telling  him  that  his  child 
was  alive.  There  were  many  sheets  of  note  paper  cov- 
ered in  a  bold  handwriting  which  seemed  familiar  to  him. 
His  hand  shook  more  than  ever  as  he  smoothed  out  the 
sheets,  and  his  eyes  grew  dim  again.  Was  his  son  at 
last  to  be  restored  to  him?  He  laid  down  the  letter  de- 
liberately, and  not  until  he  had  succeeded  in  mastering 
his  emotion  did  he  attempt  to  make  himself  acquainted 
with  the  contents.  The  opening  sentence  made  his  heart 
leap  with  joy.  The  epistle  opened  baldly,  without  any 
of  the  customary  methods  of  address. 

"  The  time  has  arrived  when  I  am  compelled  to  re- 
store your  son  to  you.  I  hope  you  will  be  proud  of  him. 
He  is  known  to  the  world  as  Guy  Hora." 

Then  his  instinct  had  been  right.  Guy  was  his  son. 
He  wanted  to  read  no  more.  That  was  quite  enough. 
He  would  hasten  to  make  himself  known  to  his  son.  He 
rang  the  bell  and  ordered  the  servant  to  summon  a  cab 
immediately.  He  would  send  a  wire  to  his  wife  inform- 
ing her  of  the  good  news.  He  picked  up  the  pinafore, 
folded  it  carefully  and  placed  it  in  his  pocket.  The  letter 
he  could  read  on  his  way  to  Guy's  chambers.  But  first  he 
would  see  if  his  correspondent  revealed  himself.  He 
turned  to  the  last  page.  Yes,  there  was  a  signature, 
"  Hartley  Ruthven,  now  known  as  Lynton  Hora." 

He  remembered  his  brother  officer  and  unsuccessful 


284  THE   MASTER   CRIMINAL1 

rival  perfectly.  He  had  thought,  like  all  the  rest  of  the 
world,  Ruthven  had  been  dead  years  since.  The  rea- 
son for  his  child's  disappearance  ceased  to  be  a  mystery 
any  longer.  Yet  why  should  Ruthven  now  desire  to  re- 
turn to  life  ?  A  sudden  dread  seized  upon  Marven  as  he 
remembered  his  old  comrade's  cold,  revengeful  nature, 
the  nature  which  had  been  the  real  reason  for  his  unpopu- 
larity in  the  regiment,  instead  of  the  possession  of  narrow 
means,  to  which  Hora  had  always  ascribed  it.  Per- 
haps this  letter  was  only  a  part  of  Ruthven's  revenge 
upon  the  successful  rival.  Perhaps  he  had  better  read  it 
to  the  end  before  starting  in  search  of  Guy.  He  passed 
through  the  entire  gamut  of  the  emotions  before  he 
had  come  to  the  end  of  the  epistle.  Hora  had  deliber- 
ately set  himself  to  describe  Guy's  history  in  plain,  mat- 
ter-of-fact terms.  He  gave  details  of  the  manner  of  the 
kidnapping  of  the  child  and  particulars  concerning  him 
which  left  no  doubt  that  he  was  writing  the  truth.  Then 
he  went  on  to  relate  how  from  the  first  he  had  trained 
Guy  to  a  criminal  career.  Captain  Marven's  heart  was 
eaten  out  with  rage,  and  he  swore  to  himself  that  the 
sun  should  not  set  before  he  exacted  a  reckoning  from 
his  enemy. 

Hora  wrote  of  Guy's  university  career,  and  as  he  read 
Marven's  heart  expanded  again  with  joy.  His  boy  had 
apparently  been  uninjured  by  his  earlier  education.  He 
thanked  God  for  that.  Then  came  two  pages  in  which 
Hora  related  the  episodes  of  the  Flurscheim  robbery  and 
of  the  despoiling  of  himself  of  the  despatches  entrusted  to 
him.  "  The  latter  was  an  unpremeditated  link  in  my 
chain  of  revenge,"  wrote  Hora.  "  Fortune  does  not  al- 
ways favour  the  virtuous."  The  paper  became  blank  to 


MARVEN'S   SURPRISE   PACKET          285 

'Marven's  eyes.  The  servant  who  came  to  announce  that 
the  cab  was  waiting  at  the  door  had  to  speak  twice  be- 
fore she  could  make  her  master  comprehend. 

The  cabman  must  wait  until  he  had  finished  the  let- 
ter.    He  read  on. 

"  You  will  naturally  ask  why  I  am  telling  these  facts 
now.  I  have  two  reasons.  Fortune  has  deserted  me  at 
last.  I  had  intended  to  reveal  Guy's  parentage  when  he 
stood  in  the  dock  so  deeply  stained  with  crime  that  part 
*of  the  odium  he  incurred  would  necessarily  fall  upon 
you.  More  recently  I  determined  that  I  would  refrain 
from  putting  that  coping  stone  on  the  edifice  of  my  re- 
venge. Not  out  of  any  misplaced  tenderness  for  you. 
Do  not  think  that.  My  reason  was  a  purely  selfish  one. 
My  adopted  son  had  somehow  endeared  himself  to  me. 
I  foresaw  in  him  an  ornament  to  my  own  profession.  I 
became  sentimental  and  so,  foolish.  I  thought  he  should 
always  remain  my  son.  I  forgot  that  he  had  your  blood 
in  his  veins  and  I  let  him  fall  under  your  influence.  I 
forgot  too  that  a  girl  can  shatter  the  most  complete  phi-  ' 
losophy  with  a  glance  of  her  eyes.  The  young  fool  has 
fallen  in  love  with  Meriel  Challys,  and  the  consequence 
is  that  he  has  got  into  his  head  a  ridiculous  idea  that  he 
must  deliver  himself  up  to  justice  in  order  to  make 
amends  for  his  legitimate  spoiling  of  the  Egyptians, 
Flurscheim  and  yourself.  He  is  proposing  to  do  so 
within  the  next  forty-eight  hours,  so  you  may  have  time 
to  prevent  his  voluntary  martyrdom — a  martyrdom  he 
will  certainly  regret,  judging  from  my  own  experience. 
Do  not  think,  however,  that  I  am  only  animated  by  Guy's 
interests.  I  am  still  keenly  alive  to  my  own  safety.  I  have 
had  quite  enough  of  prison  life,  and  am  well  prepared 


286  THE   MASTER   CRIMINAL 

with  means  of  escape,  though  I  do  not  desire  to  end 
my  existence  just  yet.  Of  course,  if  you  care  to  sac- 
rifice your  son  in  order  that  I  shall  not  escape,  that  is 
your  affair.  Guy  knows  nothing  of  his  parentage,  though 
I  have  taken  steps  to  inform  him  of  it  should  you  fail  to 
do  so.  I  shall  not  leave  him  entirely  in  your  hands." 

Captain  Marven  laid  the  letter  down,  and,  dropping 
his  face  in  his  hands,  he  groaned  aloud.  His  heart  was 
sick  with  anguish.  His  long  lost  son  was  returned  to 
him,  but  in  what  guise?  By  training,  by  profession, 
he  was  a  thief.  Guy  Marven,  his  son,  a  thief!  The 
horror  of  it  was  almost  too  great  to  be  borne !  It  was 
the  bitterest  blow  of  his  life,  far  more  bitter  even 
than  the  blow  which  had  fallen  when  his  baby  boy 
had  been  stolen  from  him.  If  Lynton  Hora  could 
have  watched  the  effect  produced  by  his  communica- 
tion, even  his  thirst  for  revenge  would  have  been  sat- 
isfied. But  more  bitter  even  than  the  knowledge  of  what 
his  son  had  become  was  the  realisation  of  the  burden  of 
duty  which  the  revelation  thrust  upon  him.  As  he  real- 
ised his  duty  in  the  matter,  Captain  Marven's  face  was 
grey  with  anguish.  He  had  found  his  son  only  to  lose 
him  again — to  lose  him  amongst  the  yellow-garbed  deni- 
zens of  the  convict  prison.  More,  it  was  he  who  must, 
with  his  own  hand,  send  him  to  that  outer  darkness. 
God  grant  that  his  son  would  be  a  man !  God  grant  it ! 
That  was  Captain  Marven's  earnest  prayer. 

Then  his  wife  and  Meriel  ?  What  if  they  were  to  learn 
of  Guy's  relationship.  Captain  Marven  could  only  dimly 
conceive  the  effect  upon  them. 

The  servant  came  again  to  announce  that  the  cab  was 
awaiting  him.  Marven  rose,  but  it  was  as  a  man  ten 


MARVEN'S   SURPRISE   PACKET          287 

years  older  than  the  one  who  had  opened  Hora's  letter 
ten  minutes  before.  His  face  was  lined,  and  his  hand 
tremulous,  but  his  lips  were  set  firmly.  He  saw  his  duty 
plainly  before  him.  There  was  only  one  path  he  could 
tread,  even  though  every  step  on  that  path  gave  him  a 
fresh  pang.  But  he  must  see  Guy  first,  before  he  took 
that  step. 

He  entered  the  cab  and  was  driven  to  the  Albany.  He 
was  more  master  of  himself  by  the  time  he  arrived.  He 
wondered  what  he  should  do  if  Guy  should  be  absent 
from  home,  for  the  time  at  his  command  was  short. 
Within  an  hour  he  was  due  at  the  Foreign  Office. 

Guy  opened  the  door,  and  started  with  amazement  at 
sight  of  his  visitor's  face. 

"  Captain  Marven !  "  he  exclaimed.  Then  a  great  fear 
took  possession  of  him.  "  Meriel  ?  "  he  gasped. 

Marven  grasped  the  intention  of  the  query. 

"  Meriel  was  all  right  when  I  left  her  this  morning," 
he  replied. 

Guy's  relief  was  obvious.  "  Are  you  ill  ?  Is  anything 
the  matter  ?  "  he  asked,  as  he  closed  the  door  behind  the 
Captain,  and  followed  him  into  his  sitting-room. 

Marven  was  at  a  loss  for  words.  Hora's  letter  was  in 
his  hand.  He  held  it  out  to  Guy,  and  said  huskily,  "  Read 
this." 

"  But "  interrupted  Guy. 

"  No,  read  this,"  repeated  Marven. 

Guy  took  the  letter.  He  recognised  the  handwriting, 
and  he  wondered.  His  wonder  gave  place  to  amazement 
as  he  read.  Amazement  was  succeeded  by  horror,  and. 
when  he  had  finished  reading,  the  paper  dropped  from 
his  hands,  and  he  turned  his  face  away  from  the  man 


290  THE   MASTER   CRIMINAL 

"  It's  my  misfortune  to  have  arrived  at  an  inopportune 
time,"  he  remarked.  "  But  you  shall  soon  be  rid  of  my 
presence.  I  only  want  to  rid  myself  of  the  debt  I  owe 
you  for  preserving  my  life." 

Guy's  face  flushed.  He  felt  exquisitely  uncom- 
fortable. 

"  You  rate  my  service  too  highly,"  he  said.  "  I  did 

nothing  which  entailed  any  risk  to  myself,  and " 

Flurscheim  interrupted,  but  Guy  continued  hastily,  "  And 
yet,  perhaps,  it  is  as  well  that  you  should  have  arrived 
just  now,  while  Captain  Marven  is  here.  I  have  a  con- 
fession to  make  to  you.  I  should  like  him  to  hear  what 
I  have  to  say  and — and,  when  I  have  said  it,  I  think  you 
will  no  longer  consider  yourself  in  my  debt." 

The  connoisseur  found  it  difficult  to  believe  his  ears. 
Guy's  words  could  only  bear  one  meaning.  He  glanced 
at  Captain  Marven  and  saw  that  a  light  had  come  into 
his  face.  Marven  had  grasped  Guy's  arm,  and  Flur- 
scheim heard  him  say, 

"  That's  right,  Guy,  get  it  over." 

Guy  turned  to  him.  There  was  a  new-born  humility 
in  his  voice  and  manner.  "It  is  really  your  wish?"  he 
asked. 

"  My  wish  is  that  my  son  should  do  his  duty,"  replied 
Marven  sadly. 

Guy  threw  back  his  head  and  faced  the  Jew. 

"  Mr.  Flurscheim,"  he  said,  "  I  am  the  thief  who  stole 
your  picture." 

Father  and  son  were  astounded  at  the  result  of  the 
bold  confession.  They  had  expected  amazement,  prob- 
ably immediate  denunciation,  but,  instead,  the  Jew  threw 
up  his  hands  deprecatingly,  and  fussily  remarked: 


DUTY   CALLS  291 

"  There,  there,  there.  What  if  you  did  ?  I  could  very 
well  afford  the  loss,  couldn't  I?" 

Guy  stared.  He  thought  that  he  was  not  believed, 
that,  possibly,  Flurscheim  imagined  that  he  had  taken 
leave  of  his  senses. 

"  But  it  is  true,  Mr.  Flurscheim.  I — Guy  Hora — stole 
your  pictures.  See,  I  can  give  you  proof." 

He  turned  to  a  little  silver-bound  casket  lying  on  the 
table,  and  took  from  it  the  miniature  which  was  so  like 
Meriel.  He  cast  one  longing  glance  at  the  portrait  as 
he  handed  it  to  the  connoisseur. 

"  Well,  what  if  you  did  steal  my  picture,"  snapped 
Flurscheim,  "  there  is  no  need  to  inform  the  whole  world 
of  the  fact,  is  there  ?  " 

Guy  was  bewildered. 

"  I  shall  say  no  more  about  it,"  continued  Flurscheim, 
"  except  to  advise  you  to  keep  that  miniature  out  of  the 
sight  of  prying  eyes,  and  to  take  the  earliest  opportunity 

of  getting  rid  of  that  d d  scoundrel  of  a  valet  of 

yours." 

"  But,  Mr.  Flurscheim,"  said  Guy,  "  you  do  not  seem 
to  comprehend,  I " 

The  situation  trembled  on  the  verge  of  farce.  The 
Jew's  eyes  twinkled  with  amusement,  but  he  grew  grave 
as  he  saw  Captain  Marven's  haggard  face. 

"  Let  me  explain,  Mr.  Hora,"  he  said.  "  A  few  days 
ago  your  man  Jessel  gave  me  information  of  this  minia- 
ture being  in  your  possession.  That  same  afternoon 
while  I  was  planning  how  to  punish  you,  I  fell  overboard 
and  you  saved  my  life.  Now,  you  tell  me,  you  were  the 
actual  robber  of  the  picture  and  other  little  articles.  Well, 
in  return  you  presented  me  with  something  I  value  still 


292  THE   MASTER    CRIMINAL 

more.  Shall  we  call  it  a  deal,  and  shake  hands 
on  it?" 

Guy  could  barely  see  the  outstretched  hand.  A  mist 
was  before  his  eyes. 

"  Anyhow,  I  can  appreciate  your  generosity,"  he  said, 
as  he  and  the  Jew  grasped  hands,  "  and  perhaps,  if  I 
could  have  restored  you  the  articles  I  have  stolen,  I 
might  have  listened.  But  there  is  another  concerned. 
I  must  share  the  penalty  he  will  have  to  pay." 

"  There  may  be  a  hundred  concerned.  I'll  not  trouble 
any  of  'em,  if  I  should  hurt  you  by  so  doing.  Come,  Mr. 
Hora,  say  it's  a  deal.  Don't  think  you're  accepting  a 
favour.  It's  all  the  other  way  about,  so  you  needn't  let 
your  pride  stand  in  the  way." 

"  Pride ! "  remarked  Guy.  "  My  pride  has  gone  be- 
fore my  fall."  He  was  silent.  A  few  hours  previously 
he  would  eagerly  have  accepted  Flurscheim's  offer,  but 
since  he  had  read  Hora's  letter  to  Captain  Marven,  the 
whole  position  was  changed.  Lynton  Hora  was  no 
longer  worthy  of  consideration.  There  was  no  tie  of 
blood  between  them.  Hora  had  deliberately  deceived 
him,  poisoned  his  mind,  robbed  him  of  parents  and 
honour  and  love  to  gratify  the  malice  in  his  heart.  Guy 
could  not  think  of  sparing  him.  There  could  be  no 
treachery  where  so  deeply  dyed  a  traitor  was  concerned. 

"  You'll  say  it's  a  deal  ?  "  asked  Flurscheim  again. 

Captain  Marven  intervened.  "  Perhaps  it  will  be  best 
to  explain  the  whole  of  the  circumstances  to  Mr.  Flur- 
scheim," he  said  quietly.  "  I  know  that  he  will  treat  the 
family  matters  involved  as  purely  confidential." 

Flurscheim  listened  while  Captain  Marven  deliberately 
laid  before  him  the  facts.  "  You  see,"  he  added  quietly, 


DUTY   CALLS  293 

when  he  had  finished  the  story,  "  that  this  matter  cannot 
remain  a  secret  between  us.  This  letter  must  be  laid 
before  my  chief." 

"  But  that  is  madness,"  cried  Flurscheim.  He  ges- 
ticulated wildly  in  his  excitement.  He  protested,  he  im- 
plored, he  argued  that  only  an  entirely  wrong-headed 
sense  of  duty  could  demand  such  a  course  of  action. 
But  Marven  remained  inflexible,  and  Guy  supported  him 
in  his  determination. 

He  was  still  arguing  when  the  striking  of  a  clock 
warned  Marven  that  he  must  leave.  Already  it  had  been 
arranged  that  Guy  was  to  accompany  him  to  the  Foreign 
Office.  "  I  shall  come,  too,"  declared  the  Jew.  "  Sir 
Everard  Markham  is  an  old  acquaintance  of  mine.  Per- 
haps he  will  make  you  listen  to  reason." 

Neither  Captain  Marven  nor  Guy  believed  that  he 
would  fulfil  his  threat.  But  they  did  not  know  the  per- 
tinacity with  which  Flurscheim  carried  out  every  scheme 
to  which  he  had  once  set  his  hand.  They  left  him  on  the 
pavement,  and  drove  to  Whitehall,  but  Flurscheim  fol- 
lowed them  a  few  minutes  later.  When  he  arrived  at 
the  Foreign  Office  Captain  Marven  had  already  been 
shown  to  the  Permanent  Secretary's  room.  Flurscheim 
demanded  notepaper,  and}  scribbling  a  hasty  note,  suc- 
ceeded in  persuading  a  messenger  to  deliver  it  to  Sir 
Everard  Markham  at  once.  Then  he  sat  down,  and 
awaited  the  result. 

The  note  was  delivered  as  he  desired,  but  it  remained 
unopened  for  a  while.  The  Permanent  Secretary  was 
far  too  deeply  immersed  in  the  business  in  hand  to  have 
a  single  thought  for  anything  else. 

It  was  a  distasteful  task  which  Sir  Everard  Mark- 


292  THE   MASTER    CRIMINAL 

more.  Shall  we  call  it  a  deal,  and  shake  hands 
on  it  ?  " 

Guy  could  barely  see  the  outstretched  hand.  A  mist 
was  before  his  eyes. 

"  Anyhow,  I  can  appreciate  your  generosity,"  he  said, 
as  he  and  the  Jew  grasped  hands,  "  and  perhaps,  if  I 
could  have  restored  you  the  articles  I  have  stolen,  I 
might  have  listened.  But  there  is  another  concerned. 
I  must  share  the  penalty  he  will  have  to  pay." 

"  There  may  be  a  hundred  concerned.  I'll  not  trouble 
any  of  'em,  if  I  should  hurt  you  by  so  doing.  Come,  Mr. 
Hora,  say  it's  a  deal.  Don't  think  you're  accepting  a 
favour.  It's  all  the  other  way  about,  so  you  needn't  let 
your  pride  stand  in  the  way." 

"  Pride ! "  remarked  Guy.  "  My  pride  has  gone  be- 
fore my  fall."  He  was  silent.  A  few  hours  previously 
he  would  eagerly  have  accepted  Flurscheim's  offer,  but 
since  he  had  read  Hora's  letter  to  Captain  Marven,  the 
whole  position  was  changed.  Lynton  Hora  was  no 
longer  worthy  of  consideration.  There  was  no  tie  of 
blood  between  them.  Hora  had  deliberately  deceived 
him,  poisoned  his  mind,  robbed  him  of  parents  and 
honour  and  love  to  gratify  the  malice  in  his  heart.  Guy 
could  not  think  of  sparing  him.  There  could  be  no 
treachery  where  so  deeply  dyed  a  traitor  was  concerned. 

"You'll  say  it's  a  deal?"  asked  Flurscheim  again. 

Captain  Marven  intervened.  "  Perhaps  it  will  be  best 
to  explain  the  whole  of  the  circumstances  to  Mr.  Flur- 
scheim," he  said  quietly.  "  I  know  that  he  will  treat  the 
family  matters  involved  as  purely  confidential." 

Flurscheim  listened  while  Captain  Marven  deliberately 
laid  before  him  the  facts.  "  You  see,"  he  added  quietly, 


DUTY   CALLS  293 

when  he  had  finished  the  story,  "  that  this  matter  cannot 
remain  a  secret  between  us.  This  letter  must  be  laid 
before  my  chief." 

"  But  that  is  madness,"  cried  Flurscheim.  He  ges- 
ticulated wildly  in  his  excitement.  He  protested,  he  im- 
plored, he  argued  that  only  an  entirely  wrong-headed 
sense  of  duty  could  demand  such  a  course  of  action. 
But  Marven  remained  inflexible,  and  Guy  supported  him 
in  his  determination. 

He  was  still  arguing  when  the  striking  of  a  clock 
warned  Marven  that  he  must  leave.  Already  it  had  been 
arranged  that  Guy  was  to  accompany  him  to  the  Foreign 
Office.  "  I  shall  come,  too,"  declared  the  Jew.  "  Sir 
Everard  Markham  is  an  old  acquaintance  of  mine.  Per- 
haps he  will  make  you  listen  to  reason." 

Neither  Captain  Marven  nor  Guy  believed  that  he 
would  fulfil  his  threat.  But  they  did  not  know  the  per- 
tinacity with  which  Flurscheim  carried  out  every  scheme 
to  which  he  had  once  set  his  hand.  They  left  him  on  the 
pavement,  and  drove  to  Whitehall,  but  Flurscheim  fol- 
lowed them  a  few  minutes  later.  When  he  arrived  at 
the  Foreign  Office  Captain  Marven  had  already  been 
shown  to  the  Permanent  Secretary's  room.  Flurscheim 
demanded  notepaper,  and,  scribbling  a  hasty  note,  suc- 
ceeded in  persuading  a  messenger  to  deliver  it  to  Sir 
Everard  Markham  at  once.  Then  he  sat  down,  and 
awaited  the  result. 

The  note  was  delivered  as  he  desired,  but  it  remained 
unopened  for  a  while.  The  Permanent  Secretary  was 
far  too  deeply  immersed  in  the  business  in  hand  to  have 
a  single  thought  for  anything  else. 

It  was  a  distasteful  task  which  Sir  Everard  Mark- 


294  THE    MASTER   CRIMINAL 

ham  had  undertaken  to  perform.  Never  before,  during 
his  tenure  of  office,  had  he  been  called  upon  to  question 
the  honesty  of  any  of  his  trusted  officials.  That  a  soldier 
and  a  gentleman  could  be  so  lost  to  all  sense  of  honour 
as  to  deliberately  steal  government  secrets  for  purposes 
of  private  gain  was  almost  unthinkable.  Yet  the  report 
which  Detective  Inspector  Kenly  had  made  left  very  little 
room  for  doubt  as  to  Captain  Marven's  guilt.  And  Mar- 
ven  was  the  last  man  whom  he  should  have  suspected  of 
such  infamy.  The  Secretary  of  State,  too,  was  as  much 
amazed  as  the  Permanent  Secretary  at  Kenly's  report. 
He  also  knew  Captain  Marven  personally.  He  had  dined 
at  his  house,  they  belonged  to  the  same  clubs,  he  would 
have  pledged  his  whole  estate  on  Marven's  fidelity,  and 
yet — he  trusted  that  the  damning  facts  might  be  ex- 
plained away,  though  he  doubted  that  it  would  be  pos- 
sible to  furnish  any  plausible  explanation  of  the  facts 
save  one. 

Most  damning  of  all  to  both  their  minds  was  the  final 
item  of  information  which  Inspector  Kenly  had  brought 
with  him  shortly  before  the  hour  at  which  it  had  been  ar- 
ranged for  the  King's  Messenger  to  call.  There  could 
only  be  one  explanation  of  Lynton  Hora's  communica- 
tion with  Marven  within  an  hour  or  two  of  his  reaching 
town.  The  two  men  must  be  in  close  communication 
with  one  another.  Kenly  himself  no  longer  had  any 
doubts  as  to  Captain  Marven's  guilt.  He  only  regretted 
that  the  exigencies  of  the  situation  were  such  that  any 
one  of  the  gang  would  escape  his  clutches.  Still,  there 
would  be  some  satisfaction  in  having  assisted  to  unmask 
such  a  scoundrel.  He  looked  forward  to  the  interview 
with  keen  anticipation.  He  had  advised  the  course  to  be 


DUTY   CALLS  295 

adopted,  and,  with  some  alterations  of  their  own,  both 
the  Great  Man  and  the  Permanent  Secretary  had  fallen 
in  with  his  views. 

But  the  interview  was  not  destined  to  take  the  lines 
suggested,  for  almost  the  first  words  Captain  Marven 
had  spoken,  when  he  had  been  ushered  into  the  presence 
of  his  three  judges,  had  thrown  the  carefully  discussed 
plans  into  confusion.  So  intent  was  he  on  performing 
the  duty  he  had  laid  down  for  himself,  that  he  observed 
nothing  out  of  the  way  in  the  presence  of  Sir  Gadsby 
Dimbleby  and  another  man,  a  stranger  to  him,  in  the 
Permanent  Secretary's  room.  He  did  not  observe  that 
neither  the  Permanent  Secretary  nor  the  Great  Man  had 
offered  him  a  hand,  nor  that  there  was  a  false  ring  about 
the  "  How  d'ye  do,  Marven,"  with  which  Sir  Gadsby 
greeted  him.  Trivialities,  such  as  these,  were  of  no  im- 
portance to  the  man  who  had  before  him  the  terrible  duty 
of  denouncing  the  son  whom  he  had  but  just  found. 

Captain  Marven  had  mapped  out  for  himself  the  course 
to  be  pursued.  First  he  must  make  amends  for  his  own 
share  in  the  disclosure.  He  had  failed  in  his  trust. 
He  had  allowed  himself  to  fall  into  the  trap  laid  for  him. 
There  was  only  one  way  in  which  he  could  make  amends. 

"  I  suppose,  Sir  Markham,"  he  said,  "  you  have  sent 
for  me  in  the  ordinary  course.  I  regret  that  some  mat- 
ters I  have  to  lay  before  you  will  probably  lead  you  to 
the  conclusion  that  I  am  no  longer  fit  to  be  entrusted 
with  your  commands.  I  think  it  well  to  tell  you  at  once, 
in  case  you  are  in  urgent  need  of  a  messenger,  so  that 
you  may  communicate  with  the  next  man  on  the  rota." 

A  dead  silence  followed  his  words.  The  Great  Man 
looked  at  the  Permanent  Secretary  and  the  Permanent 


296  THE   MASTER   CRIMINAL 

Secretary  returned  the  glance.  One  thought  was  com- 
mon to  each  of  their  minds.  Was  Marven  going  to  con- 
fess? They  suddenly  became  aware  that  the  Captain 
had  aged  considerably  since  they  last  saw  him,  that  his 
face  was  worn  and  lined,  his  eyes  dull.  Yet  he  held 
himself  erect,  and  his  voice  was  calm. 

He  continued,  "  The  matter  is  of  importance.  Of 
course  I  can  have  no  objection  to  the  presence  of  Sir 
Gadsby,  but  I  do  not  recognise  this  gentleman," — he  indi- 
cated Kenly  with  a  gesture — "  and  if  he  would  retire " 

Kenly  made  no  movement,  and  the  Permanent  Secre- 
tary raised  his  eyebrows  in  mute  enquiry  to  the  Great 
Man.  Sir  Gadsby  coughed.  Then  he  remarked  drily, 
"  This  gentleman  is  Detective  Inspector  Kenly  of  Scot- 
land Yard.  It  is  my  desire  that  he  should  hear  why  you 
consider  yourself  unfit  to  be  trusted  with  your  duties  as 
a  King's  Messenger." 

Captain  Marven  could  not  fail  to  understand  the  sug- 
gestion which  lay  behind  the  Great  Man's  words.  Still 
more  significant  was  the  cold  tone  in  which  the  words 
were  spoken.  He  was  himself  suspect.  His  summons 
was  not  in  the  ordinary  course  of  events.  He  was  to 
have  been  called  to  account.  Well,  what  did  it  matter? 
Yet,  though  his  cheek  flushed,  and  as  suddenly  paled,  he 
gave  no  other  sign  of  agitation.  "  He  has  a  soldier's 
pluck,  anyway,"  muttered  Kenly  to  himself,  as  Marven 
replied  calmly,  "  Certainly,  if  you  wish  it,  Sir  Gadsby." 

Marven  turned  immediately  to  the  Permanent  Secre- 
tary. "  I  received  barely  two  hours  ago  a  letter  from  an 
old  brother  officer  of  mine,  named  Hartley  Ruthven,  who 
is  now  known  by  the  name  of  Lynton  Hora.  I  want  you 
to  read  that  letter  first.  Afterwards  I  should  like  to  add 


DUTY   CALLS  297 

any  information  which  is  in  my  possession  to  the  dis- 
closures it  contains." 

The  Permanent  Secretary  took  the  letter  from  Mar- 
ven's  hand,  and  glanced  rapidly  over  the  first  page. 

"  Good  God !  "  he  said.  He  looked  up  and  insensibly 
his  tone  became  more  kindly.  "  Won't  you  sit  down, 
Marven?" 

Captain  Marven  seated  himself.  The  Permanent  Sec- 
retary read  another  page.  Then  he  spoke  again. 

"Shall  I  read  this  letter  to  Sir  Gadsby?  I  am  sure 
that  if  I  say  it  is  desirable  that  Mr.  Kenly  shall  with- 
draw he  will  not  insist  upon  his  remaining." 

"  I  should  prefer  Mr.  Kenly  should  hear  the  contents," 
answered  Marven  steadily. 

The  Permanent  Secretary  read  the  letter  aloud.  When 
he  concluded  there  was  a  silence  that  could  be  felt. 

Marven  broke  it.  "  My  son  is  waiting  below  to  give 
himself  up  to  justice."  His  voice  quivered  for  a  mo- 
ment, then  became  steady  again.  "  He  is  ready — even 
anxious — to  pay  the  penalty." 

Sir  Gadsby 's  face  became  purple.  He  turned  to  Kenly. 
"  Here  you,  what  the  devil  do  you  mean  by  letting  this 

d d  scoundrel  Hora  go  about  kidnapping  honest  men's 

sons  and  bringing  'em  up  to  break  their  father's  hearts? 
What  is  the  use  of  a  detective  force  at  all  ?  " 

Kenly  nearly  fell  off  his  chair  at  the  suddenness  of  the 
attack.  He  was  far  too  amazed  to  defend  himself.  He 
understood  the  next  moment  that  the  explosion  was  only 
the  ebullition  of  a  warm  heart  which  needed  an  outlet, 
for  the  next  moment  the  Great  Man  had  taken  Captain 
Marven's  hand  and  was  shaking  it  violently,  while  he 
stuttered  out,  "  By  Gad.  Marven,  I  have  to  apologise  to 


298  THE   MASTER   CRIMINAL 

you.  I've  been  thinking  that  you  peeped  into  that  de- 
spatch box  yourself.  I'll  never  forgive  myself  for  doubt- 
ing you." 

Captain  Marven  smiled  sadly.  "  Though  unintention- 
ally, I  have  betrayed  my  trust,"  he  said.  "  If  I  had  been 

more  careful,  my  son "  He  could  get  no  further. 

The  Great  Man  wiped  his  eyes  and  blew  his  nose  vio- 
lently. He  knew  Marven's  story,  knew  of  his  sorrow 
and  his  hopes,  and  he  could  appreciate  the  wonderful 
devotion  to  duty  which  had  led  him  to  so  sacrifice  his 
son.  He  turned  to  the  Permanent  Secretary.  "  Look 
here,  Markham,  we  must  put  our  old  heads  together  and 
get  the  boy  out  of  this  scrape  somehow."  He  nodded 
to  the  detective.  "  You  ought  to  be  able  to  suggest 
something,  Kenly." 

The  Inspector's  face  was  a  study.  He  foresaw  all 
his  efforts  being  wasted.  He  set  his  lips  doggedly. 

"  I  am  afraid  you  are  asking  me  to  assent  in  com- 
pounding a  felony,"  he  answered  sourly. 

"  Compounding  a  felony  be  d d !  "  roared  the  Great 

Man.  "  I'll  guarantee  it  wouldn't  be  the  first  time  you've 
compounded." 

To  this  totally  undeserved  slur,  the  Inspector  was 
about  to  make  a  heated  reply,  when  the  Permanent  Sec- 
retary intervened.  "  Sir  Gadsby  often  says  more  than 
he  means,"  he  remarked,  adding  thoughtfully,  " — in 
private  life,  of  course." 

The  Great  Man  laughed,  and  said,  "  Yes,  you  must 
not  take  my  last  remark  to  you  literally,  Inspector." 

Kenly 's  face  cleared,  but  he  was  still  loth  to  let  the 
victim,  about  whom  he  had  wound  his  net,  escape. 

"  Do  you  propose  to  let  this  man  Lynton  Hora  go  free, 


DUTY   CALLS  299 

then  ?  "  he  asked.  "  What  would  Mr.  Flurscheim  say 
to  that?" 

A  totally  unexpected  answer  came  to  the  enquiry.  The 
Permanent  Secretary  had  remembered  the  unopened 
note  which  had  been  brought  to  him.  He  had  torn  it 
open,  and  the  signature  had  attracted  his  attention. 

"  Suppose  we  ask  Mr.  Flurscheim,"  he  said.  "  Listen 
to  this,"  he  read  the  note  aloud. 

"  DEAR  SIR  MARKHAM  :  A  friend  of  mine,  from  some 
pig-headed  notion  of  duty,  is  insisting  on  sending  his 
son  to  prison.     I  want  you,  before  you  take  any  action  in 
the  matter,  to  hear  what  I  have  to  say  on  the  question. 
"  Very  sincerely  yours, 

"  HlLDEBRAND  FLURSCHEIM. 

"  P.  S. — By  the  time  you  receive  this  you  will,  of 
course,  understand  that  I  am  writing  about  Captain 
Marven. 

"  PP.  S. — I  shall  wait  here  until  I  see  you." 

The  Great  Man  rubbed  his  hands  together  and 
chuckled. 

"  Let  us  have  Mr.  Flurscheim  up,"  he  said. 


CHAPTER   XXVIII 

THE   FRUITS   OF   A    CRIMINAL   PHILOSOPHY 

LYNTON  HORA  was  not  to  be  allowed  to  escape.  That 
was  the  decision  arrived  at,  after  the  prolonged  confer- 
ence at  the  Foreign  Office,  and  Detective  Inspector 
Kenly's  mind  was  thereby  disburdened  of  the  fear  lest 
all  his  efforts  should  have  been  wasted.  He  would  have 
liked  to  have  made  certain  of  one  prisoner  there  and 
then,  but  this  was  forbidden  him.  He  had  no  belief  in 
repentant  offenders,  and  to  him  Guy  appeared  nothing 
more.  Still  Flurscheim  refused  to  charge  Guy.  Cap- 
tain Marven  undertook  to  be  responsible  for  his  answer- 
ing any  charge,  Sir  Everard  Markham  added  his  per- 
suasions, and  Sir  Gadsby  Dimbleby  declared  that  he 
would  take  it  as  a  personal  insult  if  Guy  were  arrested 
before  the  Master  Criminal  was  laid  by  the  heels.  The 
Great  Man  was  far  too  great  a  man  for  a  detective  in- 
spector to  offend,  and  so  Guy  left  the  Foreign  Office  with 
Captain  Marven  to  await  the  summons  to  surrender  him- 
self, when  information  of  Hora's  arrest  should  reach 
him. 

The  Captain  was  very  grateful  for  the  respite,  none 
the  less  because  he  had  not  personally  urged  it.  For  a 
little  while  his  son  would  be  with  him.  As  yet  the 
prison  stain  was  not  upon  him.  He  was  pathetically 
anxious  to  become  acquainted  with  the  grown  child 
who  was  so  soon  to  be  torn  away  again.  Duty  may 

300 


FRUITS    OF   A   CRIMINAL   PHILOSOPHY     301 

be  sometimes  an  over-hard  task-master,  yet  he  faced  it 
manfully,  and  could  at  least  find  some  small  consolation 
in  the  fact  that  his  son  faced  it  as  manfully  as  himself. 

Detective  Inspector  Kenly  saw  them  drive  away  to- 
gether, and,  as  he  caught  sight  of  the  look  of  pleasure 
on  the  face  of  the  King's  Messenger,  he  was  not  alto- 
gether sorry  that  he  had  been  compelled  to  forego  the 
arrest. 

"  It's  a  curious  tangle,"  he  muttered.  Then  he  hailed 
a  cab,  and  gave  the  address  of  a  police  court.  Ten  min- 
utes' interview  with  the  magistrate  was  all  he  sought, 
and,  when  he  re-entered  the  waiting  cab,  he  had  in 
his  possession  two  documents — a  warrant  for  Lynton 
Hora's  arrest,  and  a  search  warrant  for  the  flat  in  West- 
minster Mansions. 

Thus  provided  for  all  emergencies,  he  drove  straight 
away  for  Hora's  residence.  There  was  no  time  to  be 
wasted.  From  what  he  had  learned  during  the  after- 
noon it  was  clear  that  Lynton  Hora  must  be  aware  that 
at  any  moment  his  deeds  might  be  brought  to  light,  for 
Guy  had  been  called  in  to  the  conference,  and  he  had 
revealed  all  that  had  passed  between  himself  and  the 
man  he  had  believed  to  be  his  father. 

On  arrival  at  Westminster  Mansions  Inspector  Kenly 
stamped  his  foot  with  vexation  on  learning  that  Lynton 
Hora  had  gone  out.  His  subordinate  was  absent,  too. 
If  flight  was  in  Hora's  mind,  the  sergeant  would  obey 
the  instructions  and  detain  him.  Kenly  determined  to 
make  use  of  the  absence  to  execute  the  search  warrant 
in  his  possession.  But  he  was  not  going  to  leave  any- 
thing to  chance.  He  telephoned  to  Scotland  Yard  for 
further  assistance,  and,  pending  its  arrival,  he  chatted 


302  THE   MASTER   CRIMINAL 

with  his  old  friend,  the  hall  porter,  and  from  him  he 
learned  that  the  other  occupant  of  the  flat  had  also  gone 
out  that  morning,  and  had  not  returned.  This  seemed 
more  like  preparation  for  flight  than  ever,  but  Myra's  ab- 
sence also  left  him  a  clear  field  for  his  investigations.  A 
very  few  minutes  elapsed  before  the  assistance  he  had 
asked  for  arrived.  He  left  one  of  the  two  plain-clothes 
men  in  the  hall  and  took  the  other  with  him  upstairs. 
No  one  was  aware  of  the  nature  of  their  business,  and 
the  two  men  entered  the  flat  with  the  service  key. 
Kenly  did  not  waste  time  on  a  careful  examination  of 
the  lower  rooms.  He  went  directly  to  the  floor  leading 
to  the  attics  where  Hora's  "  collection "  was  stored. 
He  only  wanted  to  verify  the  information  which  Guy 
had  given  as  to  the  whereabouts  of  the  Greuze.  He  had 
long  since  provided  himself  with  a  key  to  the  lock  of  the 
door  so  that  admission  to  the  attics  presented  no  diffi- 
culty. Guy  had  spoken  truly.  Kenly  found  the  Greuze 
and  the  snuff-boxes  stolen  from  Flurscheim's  house.  He 
saw  also  that  there  was  a  rich  store  of  other  articles  in 
locked  cabinets  and  cases,  for  which  no  doubt  he  would 
be  able  to  find  owners.  But  he  did  not  linger  to  exam- 
ine them.  There  would  be  plenty  of  time  for  that  after 
Hora  had  been  apprehended. 

After  he  had  been  apprehended!  Kenly  did  not 
allow  himself  to  consider  the  possibility  that  he  might 
escape.  Yet  as  minutes  passed  by  and  the  minutes 
added  themselves  into  hours,  he  began  to  be  uneasy  in 
his  mind.  His  uneasiness  became  acute  apprehension 
when,  as  dusk  was  falling,  the  subordinate  to  whom  had 
been  entrusted  the  duty  of  shadowing  Hora  returned 
to  the  Mansions  alone. 


FRUITS    OF   A   CRIMINAL   PHILOSOPHY     303 

A  rich  variety  of  objurgations  rose  to  the  Inspector's 
tongue,  but  there  was  no  time  to  be  lost  in  uttering  them. 
He  enquired  where  Hora  had  been  lost  sight  of.  The 
man  explained  to  the  best  of  his  ability.  He  had  fol- 
lowed Hora  to  Waterloo  railway  station,  had  heard  him 
take  a  return  ticket  to  Worcester  Park,  had  himself 
booked  to  the  same  destination,  had  taken  a  seat  in  the 
next  compartment,  had  watched  to  see  whether  he 
alighted  at  any  intermediate  station,  and  on  arrival  at 
Worcester  Park  had  discovered  that  the  compartment 
in  which  Hora  had  travelled  was  empty. 

Kenly  reflected.  Worcester  Park  was  two  stations 
further  down  the  line  than  Wimbledon.  What  if  Hora 
had  wished  to  see  Jessel  again?  He  turned  to  the  man. 
"  Was  Hora  carrying  a  small  black  bag  and  an  overcoat 
on  his  arm  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  was  the  reply. 

"You  idiot,"  muttered  Kenly;  then  he  added,  "You 
will  wait  here  until  Hora  returns,  or  you  are  relieved. 
If  he  comes  back,  you  will  arrest  him  and  take  him 
straight  to  Bow-Street.  If  the  girl  returns,  arrest  her, 
too."  Then  he  turned  to  the  other  two  men.  "  Go 
back  to  the  Yard,  and  have  a  full  description  of  him  and 
the  girl  telegraphed  to  every  port  in  the  kingdom.  Stay, 
though,  you  had  better  wire,  also,  particulars  of  the  dis- 
guise in  which  he  succeeded  in  eluding  this  dolt." 

The  subordinate  shivered,  and  realised  that  if  Hora 
did  not  return  it  would  be  advisable  for  him  to  retire 
from  the  force. 

Kenly  dictated  a  description  of  Hora's  clerical  dis- 
guise. There  was  yet  a  chance  that  he  might  get  upon 
his  track.  He  jumped  into  the  first  cab  that  passed  and 


304  THE   MASTER   CRIMINAL 

drove  away  to  Waterloo.  He  could  have  wept  with 
vexation  at  the  thought  of  his  prey  escaping  so  easily, 
through  the  incompetence  of  his  subordinate.  He 
looked  at  his  watch.  A  train  was  timed  to  start  for 
Wimbledon  in  two  minutes.  With  luck  he  would  just 
catch  it.  He  lifted  the  trap  in  the  roof  of  the  hansom,  and 
shouted,  "  Hurry  up,  cabby,  I  have  a  train  to  catch." 

Luck  was  apparently  against  him.  Traffic  was  heavy 
and  the  cab  was  caught  in  a  block.  Kenly  writhed  with 
impatience.  But  a  moment  later  the  traffic  block  ap- 
peared to  be  a  special  dispensation  of  Providence. 
Kenly  caught  sight,  in  the  light  of  a  street  lamp,  of  an 
old  clergyman,  in  shabby  hat  and  cloak  and  carrying  a 
small  black  bag,  amongst  the  crowd  on  the  sidewalk. 
He  could  have  shouted  aloud  with  delight.  He  jumped 
out  of  the  cab,  and  tossed  the  driver  a  half-crown  piece. 
His  first  impulse  was  to  dash  forward,  and  there  and 
then  effect  the  arrest.  He  had  recognised  Hora,  he 
could  have  sworn  to  the  distinguishing  limp.  But  a 
second  thought  restrained  him.  Though  Guy's  state- 
ments had  been  apparently  full  and  frank,  Kenly  had  not 
credited  him  when  he  had  declared  that  he  and  Lynton 
Hora  worked  alone.  He  had  thought  that  there  must 
be  other  members  of  the  gang,  a  supposition  which  had 
been  fed  by  the  information  he  had  extracted  from  Jessel. 
Hora  had  worn  his  clerical  disguise  when  communi- 
cating with  Jessel.  What  more  likely  than  that  he 
should  put  it  on  when  communicating  with  other  tools? 
Kenly  determined  to  follow  him. 

Soon  he  was  glad  that  he  had  done  so.  Hora  apparently 
had  no  intention  of  returning  to  Westminster  Man- 
sions. He  boarded  an  omnibus  which  took  him  north- 


FRUITS   OF   A   CRIMINAL   PHILOSOPHY     305 

wards.  Kenly  sat  behind  him  while  they  drove  through 
the  brilliant  streets  of  the  West  End.  He  changed  the 
'bus  for  Another  travelling  westwards,  the  detective  at 
his  heels.  Passengers  came  and  went,  but  Hora  re- 
mained until  the  end  of  the  journey. 

Kenly  knew  the  district,  and  he  thought  that  his  sup- 
positions were  about  to  be  verified  when  he  observed  the 
direction  Hora  took  upon  alighting.  That  way  led  to 
the  quarter  where  the  thieves  of  the  metropolis  had 
gathered  and  made  themselves  a  colony  when  their  old 
haunts  in  the  centre  of  the  city  had  been  mowed  down. 
He  felt  in  his  pocket  for  his  whistle,  and  wished  that  he 
had  slipped  a  revolver  into  his  pocket  that  morning. 
But  he  followed,  nevertheless,  and  was  thankful  when  a 
couple  of  uniformed  policemen  came  in  sight.  As  he 
passed  them  he  uttered  a  single  word.  The  constables 
apparently  took  no  notice,  but  when  Kenly  was  half  the 
length  of  the  street  distant  they  wheeled  round  and  fol- 
lowed him  steadily. 

Hora  pursued  his  way  in  a  manner  that  showed  that 
the  quarter  was  not  strange  to  him.  The  detective 
hunched  his  shoulders,  pulled  his  cap  down  over  his 
ears,  and  turned  up  his  coat  collar.  Here  he  might  be 
recognised  any  moment.  He  did  not  want  to  alarm  his 
quarry. 

Hora  turned  into  Fancy  Lane.  He  was  walking  more 
quickly  now.  He  disappeared  under  the  archway  which 
led  to  "  Ma "  Norton's  disreputable  shed.  Arriving 
there  Kenly  paused.  The  two  policemen  turned  into 
the  lane.  He  held  up  his  hand  and  plunged  into  the 
blackness.  The  constables  came  on,  and  arriving  at 
the  entrance  they  stood  there  chatting  quietly.  But 


306  THE   MASTER   CRIMINAL 

their  eyes  were  keenly  observant,  and  each  had  loosened 
the  truncheon  hidden  beneath  his  tunic.  They  were  in 
the  enemy's  country,  and  at  any  moment  might  be  called 
upon  to  fight  for  their  lives. 

Kenly  blundered  on  through  the  darkness,  guided  by 
the  sound  of  voices,  until  he  emerged  into  the  yard. 
There  his  attention  was  attracted  by  a  dull  light  filtering 
through  dirty  panes  of  glass.  It  seemed  to  him  evidence 
that  his  objective  was  attained.  Stealthily  he  made  his 
way  to  the  window  and  peeped  through. 

He  had  seen  many  strange  tableaux  during  his  career, 
but  none  stranger  than  that  he  now  looked  upon.  He  saw 
a  dropsical  old  woman,  with  a  glass  in  her  hand  and  a 
maudlin  grin  on  her  bloated  face,  balancing  herself  with 
difficulty  on  a  rickety  chair.  He  saw  Lynton  Hora,  with 
a  mocking  smile  on  his  face,  by  no  means  in  keeping 
with  his  clerical  garb,  pointing  to  the  hideous  figure. 
He  saw  another  man  at  Hora's  elbow,  a  bullet-headed 
man,  with  closely  cropped  red  hair  and  with  flushed 
face,  whose  eyes  never  wandered  from  the  face  of  the 
fourth  member  of  the  party.  Kenly  recognised  her,  too. 
Myra's  beauty  was  not  easily  forgotten,  and  it  peeped 
out  from  beneath  the  mask  of  horror  which  was  drawn 
over  her  face. 

Hora  was  speaking. 

"  So  you  have  found  your  way  back  to  your  native 
slum,  Myra.  Do  you  find  it  congenial  to  your  dainty 
spirit?  I  see  your  mother  is  celebrating  your  return. 
One  day  you  will  be  like  her."  He  wheeled  round  rap- 
idly and  glanced  at  the  man  at  his  elbow.  "  You  have 
found  an  admirer,  too,  as  well  as  a  mother.  You  have 
lost  no  time." 


FRUITS   OF   A   CRIMINAL   PHILOSOPHY     307 

Myra  threw  out  her  hands  imploringly. 

"  Take  me  away,  Commandatore.  Take  me  away,"  she 
cried.  She  saw  that  Hora  hesitated,  and  she  renewed  her 
appeal. 

"  Why  should  I  take  you  away  ?  "  he  answered.  "  I 
offered  you  a  husband  and  a  home.  You  let  them  es- 
cape you."  He  jerked  his  head  to  the  man.  "  Hagan 
here  will  supply  you  with  both.  Why  should  I  inter- 
fere?" 

The  hope  died  out  of  her  face  and  the  fear  reappeared 
as  the  man  lurched  forward. 

"  'Ear  what  the  Master  says ;  e's  a  toff  at  spoutin',  is 
the  Master,"  he  said,  with  an  ugly  leer  on  his  face. 

She  shrank  from  his  touch,  and  looked  vainly  round 
for  a  way  of  escape.  Kenly  thought  of  a  hare  he  had 
once  seen  as  it  doubled  almost  at  his  feet  from  two 
pursuing  greyhounds.  He  placed  his  whistle  between 
his  lips  ready. 

"  Stand  back,  Hagan,"  said  Hora  authoritatively. 

The  man  dropped  his  hand,  but  there  was  a  frown 
on  his  face. 

"  Suppose  I  were  to  take  you  away  ?  "  he  asked. 

Hope  shone  out  in  her  face  again. 

"Ask  of  me  anything  you  will,"  she  cried.  "Any- 
thing but  this." 

She  had  forgotten  everything  in  the  supreme  horror 
of  the  hideous  hole  in  which  she  had  found  herself. 

That  morning  when  she  had  left  Lynton  Hora's  abode 
she  had  thought  she  had  been  incapable  of  further  suf- 
fering. She  had  gone  out  into  the  park  and  sat  there 
hour  after  hour,  conscious  at  first  only  of  the  one  fact 
that  Guy  was  lost  to  her  forever.  She  had  told  herself 


308  THE   MASTER   CRIMINAL 

that  she  would  never  return  to  Lynton  Hora's  roof  to 
face  his  sneers.  He  had  always  hated  her.  She  had  no 
doubt  that  he  was  aware  all  the  time  that  Guy  would 
never  marry  her,  and  that  he  had  only  bidden  her  try 
to  win  his  love  that  she  might  be  humiliated  by  its  re- 
jection. Perhaps  he  had  lied  to  her  about  her  mother 
and  her  home,  merely  that  she  might  not  be  tempted  to 
escape  from  him.  The  sound  of  the  word  mother  ap- 
pealed strongly  to  her  in  her  dazed  condition.  Her 
mother  could  not  be  worse  than  Hora.  She  had  the  ad- 
dress. One  day  she  had  copied  it  down  carefully.  The 
slip  of  paper  was  still  in  her  purse. 

She  had  found  her  way  thither  with  difficulty.  Not 
until  she  had  lost  herself  amongst  the  streets  in  the 
neighbourhood  of  Fancy  Lane  did  she  begin  to  regain 
her  senses.  Then  the  words  of  coarse  abuse  from  the 
doors  of  public  houses,  the  shrill  voices  of  women  from 
open  doors,  made  her  wish  for  flight.  Darkness  had 
fallen  on  the  face  of  the  town  by  that  time,  and  she 
became  aware  that  she  was  nearly  exhausted.  Then  a 
child  had  led  her  to  Fancy  Lane,  and  another  youngster, 
for  the  gift  of  a  sixpence,  had  acted  as  guide  to  her 
destination.  Everybody  in  Fancy  Lane  knew  "  Ma " 
Norton. 

The  bully  on  his  way  to  his  favourite  drinking  shop 
had  seen  her  passing  along  the  street.  A  flash  of  the 
stones  set  in  the  bracelet  she  still  wore  on  her  wrist — 
the  bracelet  Guy  had  given  her — attracted  his  attention. 
He  had  changed  his  purpose  and  followed  her. 

Myra  had  known  that  Hora  had  spoken  only  too  truly 
the  moment  she  entered  the  den,  where  Mrs.  Norton  was 
soaking  herself  to  death  in  alcohol.  The  old  woman 


FRUITS   OF   A   CRIMINAL   PHILOSOPHY     309 

had  been  just  too  tipsy  to  comprehend  who  her  visitor 
was.  Myra  had  soon  given  up  the  task  of  trying  to  ex- 
plain. She  had  found  a  lamp,  and,  after  lighting  it,  had 
shuddered  with  disgust  at  the  filthy  surroundings  re- 
vealed by  the  light.  She  could  not  stop  there.  She  had 
risen  to  leave,  but  found  the  exit  blocked  by  the  burly 
figure  of  Bully  Hagan. 

He  had  heard  her  attempts  to  make  Mrs.  Norton  un- 
derstand who  she  was.  This  was  "  Ma's  "  lady  daugh- 
ter. He  foresaw  profit  in  the  fact.  When  his  eyes 
rested  on  Myra's  perfect  figure  silhouetted  against  the 
lamp  she  had  lighted,  another  thought  entered  into  his 
brain.  He  did  not  at  first  disclose  his  thought.  Myra 
thought  he  was  merely  intent  upon  plunder.  When  she 
understood,  she  realised  how  the  Sabine  women  must 
have  felt;  she  experienced  the  emotions  of  the  women 
of  a  Balkan  village  when  an  Albanian  regiment  was  let 
loose  upon  it. 

For  an  hour  Myra  had  kept  him  at  bay,  her  faculties 
racked  to  the  utmost.  Then  Lynton  Hora  had  come  on 
the  scene,  and  she  had  appealed  to  him. 

Now  Hora  seemed  to  be  considering  her  appeal,  and 
her  face  brightened  with  hope  as  she  gazed  eagerly  on 
his  face.  He  responded  with  a  smile. 

"  It  is  lucky  for  you  that  I  thought  of  coming  and 
looking  for  you  here,"  he  said.  "  Whatever  you  have 
done  or  left  undone  would  not  deserve  such  a  fate  as 
that." 

He  indicated  the  man  at  his  elbow  with  a  gesture  of 
scorn. 

"  You  will  take  me  home  again."  The  relief  was  so 
great  that  she  could  scarcely  believe  it. 


310  THE   MASTER   CRIMINAL 

"  Yes,  come  along.     It   is  getting  late." 

An  angry  growl  arrested  him. 

"No,  you  don't,"  said  Hagan. 

The  veins  of  the  bully's  forehead  were  swollen  and  his 
fists  clenched. 

"  Get  out  of  the  way,"  said  Hora,  in  the  tone  he  would 
have  used  to  a  cur  in  the  street,  and,  as  the  man  did  not 
stir,  he  caught  him  by  the  arm  and  thrust  him  aside  so 
violently  that  he  crashed  against  the  opposite  wall. 

"  Come,  Myra,"  said  Hora. 

Kenly  lost  nothing  of  the  scene.  He  saw  the  look  on 
the  bully's  face  as  he  picked  himself  up.  He  saw  a 
flash  of  steel  in  his  hand.  The  whistle  he  held  between 
his  teeth  shrilled  out  as  he  left  the  window  and  dashed 
to  the  door.  The  sound  was  answered  by  other  whis- 
tles, and  he  heard  the  rush  of  feet  towards  him  down 
the  passage.  He  reached  the  door,  but  it  stuck  fast. 
The  sound  of  the  advancing  feet  was  drowned  by  a 
woman's  shriek.  Kenly  hurled  his  whole  weight  against 
the  door.  The  shriek  was  repeated.  A  second  time  the 
detective  hurled  himself  against  the  door.  This  time 
the  catch  gave  way  and  he  blundered  forward  into  the 
room. 

Two  figures  lay  prone  upon  the  floor,  a  man  stood 
over  them  calmly  wiping  the  blood-stained  blade  of  a 
knife  on  his  sleeve.  A  dropsical  old  woman  sat  gazing 
with  a  maudlin  smile  on  her  face  at  the  scene. 

Kenly 's  head  whirled.  He  stood  still,  mechanically, 
until  panting  breath  behind  him  gave  warning  that  as- 
sistance had  arrived. 

Hagan  coolly  handed  him  the  knife. 

"  I  done  it,"  he  said;  "  I've  outed  'em  both." 


FRUITS    OF   A    CRIMINAL   PHILOSOPHY     311 

Then  he  held  out  his  hands  for  the  bracelets. 

Kenly  stooped  to  the  floor,  and  laid  his  finger  on 
Myra's  wrist.  The  pulse  had  ceased  to  beat.  He  laid 
her  hand  down  again,  and  bent  over  Lynton  Hora.  The 
Master  lay  perfectly  still,  and  even  while  the  detective 
bent  over  him  a  glaze  spread  itself  over  the  open  eyes. 
Kenly's  quarry  had  escaped  him. 


L'ENVOI 

CAPTAIN  MARVEN  never  had  cause  to  mourn  for  a 
son  hidden  behind  the  bars  of  a  convict  prison. 

The  fate  which  had  fallen  upon  Lynton  Hora  was  so 
full  of  horror  that  even  Detective  Inspector  Kenly 
would  have  been  willing  to  admit  that  a  greater  power 
than  that  of  the  law  he  had  striven  to  enforce  had  ad- 
ministered justice.  When  his  chief,  therefore,  told  him 
that  he  was  expected  to  keep  a  discreet  silence  in  regard 
to  the  part  Guy  had  played  in  the  Flurscheim  robbery, 
he  could  hardly  squeeze  out  a  sigh.  Later,  he  was  to 
win  his  reward  when,  by  means  of  the  Great  Man's  rec- 
ommendation, he  was  appointed  to  the  chief  constable- 
ship  of  an  important  borough  where  his  position  was 
such  that  Mrs.  Detective  Inspector  was  compelled  finally 
and  for  all  time  to  renounce  taking  in  lodgers. 

Mr.  Hildebrand  Flurscheim  once  again  rejoiced  in 
the  possession  of  his  Greuze.  It  returned  to  its  old  place 
on  his  wall,  so  that  morning  and  night  he  could  feast 
his  eyes  upon  its  beauties.  Jessel  never  applied  for  the 
reward.  He  returned  to  the  shadows  from  which  he 
had  emerged.  In  fact,  he  felt  that  he  could  not  be 
happy  in  a  land  where  he  was  so  well  known  to  an  im- 
portant member  of  the  detective  force  of  the  police.  But 
Flurscheim  always  lamented  that,  since  the  Greuze  and 
other  valuables  had  been  returned  to  him,  it  would  be 
impossible  for  him  to  liquidate  his  debt  to  Guy,  who  had 

312 


L'ENVOI  313 

insisted  even  upon  returning  the  miniature  which  bore  so 
great  a  likeness  to  Meriel. 

That  miniature,  however,  came  again  into  Guy's  pos- 
session in  the  form  of  a  wedding  gift,  when  Meriel 
Challys  changed  her  name  to  Meriel  Marven.  The 
Jew's  words  had  borne  fruit.  She  found  a  loving  duty 
in  helping  Guy  to  bury  his  past,  and  Captain  and  Mrs. 
Marven  found  a  renewal  of  their  own  youth  in  the  hap- 
piness which  attended  the  union.  As  for  Guy — well,  he 
has  been  heard  to  declare  that  the  waters  of  his  life  are 
full  of  star-dust. 


THE    END 


Recent  Publications   of  Cupples  &  Leon  Co. 

The  Powers  and  Maxine 

By    C.  N.  &  A.  M.  Williamson 

Authors  of 

"The  Lightning  Conductor/' 

"  Lady  Betty  Across  the  Water," 

'•The  Car  of  Destiny,"  etc. 

1  vol.  12  mo.  cloth,  gilt  embossing 
Illustrated   by   FRANK   T.   MERRILL 

OPINIONS  OF  THE  PRESS: 

*£ht  (Boston  Globe 

"  When  a  gifted  and  beautiful  actress,  who  at  the  same  time  is  a  secret 
service  agent  for  the  British  government,  captivates  Parisian  society 
with  her  histrionic  powers  and  incidentally  breaks  many  hearts  and 
gets  into  innumerable  tragic  situations,  the  narrative  of  her  adven- 
tures could  not  possibly  be  dulL  When  it  is  told  by  C.  N.  &  A.  M. 
Williamson,  those  past-masters  in  the  art  of  fiction,  in  such  a  dramat- 
ic book  as 'The  Powers  and  Maxine' every  page  throbs  with  interest." 

'Portland  Oregon/an 

"In  reading  this  romance  where  sensations  are  knee  deep,  it  is  well  to 
recall  that  every  recent  work  of  the  Williamsons  has  been  so  popular 
that  it  has  run  above  the  100,000  mark.  Maxine,  the  heroine  of  this  novel 
—which  is  the  best  and  latest  of  the  Williamsons,— is  a  beautiful  actress 
who  captures  Paris  with  her  art,  while  privately  she  is  a  secret  service 
agent  for  the  British  government.  Of  course,  she  comes  out  ahead." 

Chicago  Record-Herald 

"A  stirring  story,  written  in  a  manner  new  to  these  authors.    Deals 


Recent   Publications   of  Cupples  &  Leon  Co. 

Hill  Rise 

By    W.  B.  Maxwell 

Author  of 

"Vivien," 

"The  Guarded  Flame,"  etc. 

1  vol.  12.  mo.  cloth,  320  pp.  illustrated 

Nor  is  "Hill  Rise"  one  of  those  dreary,  unpleasant  crea- 
tions known  as  a  "problem  novel."  It  has  a  strong,  virile,  in- 
tensely exciting  plot,  full  of  vigorous  action,  sustained  suspense, 
thrilling  episode  and  continuous  surprises.  The  character  draw- 
ing is  almost  miraculous  in  its  fidelity  to  human  nature.  The 
whole  story  is  powerful,  simple  and  intense.  The  sort  of  a 
narrative  one  cannot  lay  down  unfinished. 

The  Man  in  the  Basement 

By     Baron  Palle  Rosenkrantz 

Author  of 

"A  Confession," 
"The  Widow,"  etc. 

1  vol.  12  mo.  cloth,  illustrated 

"The  Man  in  the  Basement"  is  perhaps  the  strangest  story 
ever  written.  Its  every  situation  is  out  of  the  common  and 
startlingly  unique.  It  compares  to  the  average  detective  or  mys- 
tery romance  as  Sherlock  Holmes  compares  with  "Deadwood 
Dick"  or  some  other  dime  novel  hero.  The  characters,  most  of 
them  are  Danes,  and  the  wild,  breezy  freedom  and  charm  of  the 
North  are  strikingly  portrayed. 


Recent  Publications   of   Cupples  &  Leon  Co. 

Graham  of  Claverhouse 

By     Ian  Maclaren 

Fhe    Last    Great    Novel    of    this    Famous   Author 

Illustrated  in  Colors   by  Frank  T.  Merrill 

1   vol.   12   mo.   cloth,  gilt 

"GRAHAM  OF  CLAVERHOUSE"  is  a  splendid 
novel  of  love,  intrigue,  and  adventure.  Through  every  line 
breathes  the  spirit  of  vibrant  human  nature  and  Hashing  local 
color.  It  is  the  historical  romance  of  the  century,  instinct  with 
poetic  feeling  and  impelling  dramatic  charm. 


Caleb  Conover,  Railroader 

By     Albert  Payson  Terhune 

1    vol.    12  mo.    cloth,   gilt 
Illustrated  in  Colors    by   Frank   Parker 

"CALEB  CONOVER"  is  truly  an  original  character. 
His  humor  is  quaint  and  contagious  and  will  be  remembered 
long  after  the  book  has  been  read." —  Washington  Star. 


Recent  Publications    of   Cupples  &  Leon  Co. 

Aladdin   of  London 

By   Max  Pemberton 

Author  of 

"The  Lady  Evelyn," 
"The  Hundred  Days,"  etc. 

1  vol.    12  mo.  cloth,   gilt,  illustrated 

"Max  Pemberton,  the  popular  novelist,  sustains  his  high 
reputation  in  this  thrilling  tale  of  European  life.  Alban  Kennedy, 
the  impoverished  son  of  a  British  parson,  is  compelled  to  take  up 
his  abode  in  the  Whitechapel  district  of  London,  and  becomes  the 
suitor  of  a  little  Polish  maid  who  is  infinitely  above  her  mean 
environment.  The  circumstances  which  lead  to  his  adoption  by  a 
millionaire,  the  net  of  intrigue  woven  about  him,  and  the  efforts 
to  bring  about  the  death  of  his  little  sweetheart  for  political  pur- 
poses, using  him  as  the  innocent  tool,  make  an  engrossing  plot." 
— Albany  Times- Union. 

The  Love  That  Prevailed 

By   F.  Frankfort  Moore 

Author  of 

"A  Trial  Marriage," 

"  The  Jessamy  Bride,"  etc. 

1  vol.    12  mo.   cloth,   gilt,   illustrated 

"P.  Frankfort  Moore,  author  of  'The  Jessamy  Bride'  and 
many  other  pleasing  stories,  has  taken  John  Wesley  as  the  leading 
character  in  his  latest  romance,  '  The  Love  That  Prevailed.'  The 
evangelist  is  portrayed  in  connection  with  a  group  of  Cornish 
villagers.  He  actually  loses  his  heart  to  the  Dolly  Varden  of  the 
neighborhood,  but,  his  unswerving  sense  of  honor  controlling  him, 
the  more  exalted  love  of  Truth  to  which  he  has  dedicated  his  life 
is  the  love  that  prevails.  But  the  sensational  matter  in  the  story 
is  the  commotion  caused  by  a  distraught  disciple  of  the  revivalist 
foretelling  the  immediate  end  of  the  world.  Upon  the  day  he  has 
set  for  the  cataclysm  the  elements  seem  to  aid  and  abet  him.  His 
manner  of  self-destruction  at  the  stormy  crisis  is  adequately  awful. 
The  minor  characters  are  drawn  well,  particularly  the  fox-hunting 
parson  who  tells  Wesley  he  has  done  great  mischief  with  his 
Methodism;  that  before  he  came  the  parishioners  were  very  com- 
fortable— '  Sir,  there  was  not  a  man  of  my  flock  who  knew  that 
he  had  a  soul.  There  was  a  healthy  condition  of  things  for  you!' " 
— N.  Y.  Globe. 


Ill       1      "       11111  ••'•'"•'• 

A    000127316    8 


